


Poudre à Canon et Pépins de Pomme

by dearenjolras, Jean_grantaire, ragnar_rock



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearenjolras/pseuds/dearenjolras, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jean_grantaire/pseuds/Jean_grantaire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragnar_rock/pseuds/ragnar_rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-authored by Dearenjolras, this fic follows Combeferre and Courfeyrac after the fall of the barricade. Surviving the barricade was one thing, but surviving what follows proves to be just as difficult. Are they really the only survivors? </p><p>This fic will be updated every Sunday with more Chapters, so don't forget to check fore updates! Hope you enjoy it!</p><p>[[EDIT: The fic is temporarily on hold until after Ragnar_Rock has moved]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was a blur of light and sound as an explosion threw Combeferre to the ground. Though winded, he forced himself back to his feet and searched for him - Courfeyrac had been torn from him and he had lost sight of him in the melee.  
The sight of every body where blood met dark curls sent a wave of panic through him but none were his heart, his Courfeyrac.

"Courfeyrac!" He cried, his voice barely audible above the din of the battle around him.  
"Courfeyrac!" He pleaded with God to just let him find Courfeyrac. 

A weak voice called to him, a muffled "help me" that should not have reached his ears over the battle, and yet somehow it did. 

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre called, but there was no answer. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. He tore debris out of the way and shouted for him until he was breathless. Another explosion sent up a cloud of smoke and dust rained down around him. He squinted, eyes watering, through it as he searched desperately for him. For a heartbeat hopelessness clutched at Combeferre’s chest and between the churning smoke, the cries, the roar of the cannon fire, Paris became Pompeii before his eyes. Before despair could claim him, he heard the voice again.  
This time, he found him.

The source wasn't Courfeyrac but a soldier, one of the gendarmes. He was young and his eyes were wide with fear as he gazed at Combeferre, filled with a combination of primal desperation and hope. Combeferre knelt beside him. The man's leg was mangled by the guard's own cannon and it would have to be removed if he was going to survive, but before he was able to so much as speak to him he was knocked to the ground by the butt of a musket. A searing pain went through him along with the blade of a bayonet. His glasses were smashed long ago and what was left of his vision blurred and was gone as he lost consciousness.

Courfeyrac's tears had barely dried from grieving Gavroche when the chaos of the battle swallowed him up and deposited him in another portion of the barricade altogether near the Musain. He was with Jehan, fighting to protect him, the poor thing wasn't made for battle and he was wounded. He was joined by Enjolras, whose eyes were filled with a passionate fire that seemed to pierce the very smoke around them. His blazing hair served as his halo and his sword gleamed, a portrait of Michael in all his fury. There was pain in his eyes, but instead of letting his grief slow him down he seemed to feed off of it. Despite his lack of shot, of powder, of men, he fought on, and kept the gendarmes from Courfeyrac and Jehan.

"Combeferre!" Courfeyrac cried, but he couldn't' see him anywhere. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of blood and gunpowder. He couldn't breathe. Suddenly Enjolras had his arms around him. He hugged him back in confusion.

 

"Enjolras?" Enjolras offered him a radiant smile, kissed Grantaire's hand and he was over the barricade.  
"ENJOLRAS!" The heart of the rebellion fell and was lost to the mangled chaos of the barricade.  
"NOOOOO!" Tears were streaming down Courfeyrac’s face and he could barely fill his lungs between sobs to shout again. He watched, petrified in agonizing grief as Grantaire stood solemnly on the peak of the barricade. He threw his arms wide, offering his chest to the gendarmes and for a moment time seemed to stand still as the nonbeliever was crucified by a hail of bullets before he toppled after Enjolras.

Courfeyrac collapsed down onto his knees...and there he was - his Combeferre haloed by blood in the dirt and debris of the barricade.  
"No..."  
Courfeyrac cradled Combeferre's head in his lap and his tears fell onto his pale cheeks, washing away the grime and the blood. He held him as the battle raged around him but he was so still. Courfeyrac waited for death and time to take him away and ease the pain that overwhelmed his entire body and ached in his soul. Finally he felt the blissful relief of bullets pierce his skin and he collapsed on top of Combeferre

\---

There was a silence, deafening and empty across the battlefield. Somehow it was worse than the screams and the gunfire, worse than the sounds of the dying and of bones breaking, the sounds of hopelessness. There was only silent darkness. Combeferre was under no illusions that he had reached heaven, for heaven could never hurt so fiercely, nor could it reek so strongly of blood and smoke. Perhaps this was hell.

His body felt heavy, unfamiliar and weak and his every breath burned with a white hot agony in his core. Breath, yes there was breath in his body and he was alive. He could have cursed every deity in existence with the realization. He was alive and everyone who he had loved, everyone who had loved him had died, torn down by the hail of bullets and charge of bayonets. He wanted nothing more than death, but one thought stopped him from giving in to its siren call.  
If he had lived, perhaps others did as well. Perhaps Courfeyrac had survived the onslaught. Fear gripped his chest, even more persistent than the agony of his mortal flesh and Combeferre forced his eyes open, frantically searching for any sign of him.

Combeferre found that he had been tossed in a pile with the other fallen, clearly presumed dead. He was thankful that his body was too weak to manage neither to scream or cry for he could have wailed at the injustice of it all. These men, these men who once had lived and loved and laughed, never would again. Their mothers, their brothers would they ever know what had become of their beloved sons?

The night was dark, not even the candle in the street lamps illuminated the bloody streets, though they still shone wet, black and sticky in the moonlight. No one stood guard over the dead, no one took notice of Combeferre as he struggled to raise himself and said a silent prayer and apology for the poor fellow he'd had to brace himself upon.

He raised himself and searched with what remained of his vision, praying that he would not find Courfeyrac among the dead. Not a moment later, he did. His beloved had been thrown nearly on top of him and it was with a blind hope that he brushed his curls, slicked with blood, away from his face and felt for a pulse at his neck.

His prayers heard, a pulse was there, weak and fading but there and the revelation spurred Combeferre into motion, the agony in his own body be damned. 

Combeferre lifted Courfeyrac into his arms and each movement sent waves of pain and nausea through him, but he had to move, to put one foot in front of the other and get them to safety far away from the barricade. Perhaps he could find an inn where Courfeyrac could rest his head and heal while Combeferre went back for the others.

After what felt like hours of stumbling blindly through back alleys and shadows, he found an inn on the outskirts of Paris. The innkeeper was an elderly woman who was sympathetic to their plight and gave them shelter. Combeferre told himself that he would go back and search through the dead for anyone else that may have survived, for Enjolras or Bahorel, or anyone. He told himself he would but he  
. He'd lost too much blood and walked too far. It was all he could do to get Courfeyrac comfortable and ensure that his wounds were clean before he succumbed to his own. He fell into a feverish sleep next to Courfeyrac in the small inn bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Co-authored by Dearenjolras, this fic follows Combeferre and Courfeyrac after the fall of the barricade. Surviving the barricade was one thing, but surviving what follows proves to be just as difficult. 
> 
> This fic will be updated every Sunday with more chapters, so don't forget to check fore updates! There are already 14 chapters, and more are on the way so this fic won't be ending any time soon. Hope you enjoy it!

Combeferre was smiling. That same radiant smile that Enjolras had flashed Courfeyrac before the end. Courfeyrac’s eyes slowly drifted closed, dark lashes meeting fair skin. When they opened again Combeferre was soaked in blood, pale and smashed amidst the rubble of the barricade that they had lived and died for. Another blink. Combeferre was gone, and Courfeyrac clutched his broken glasses so tightly that blood streamed from from where the shards had sunk deep into his palm. He screamed but no sound escaped his lips. 

 

Courfeyrac jerked awake. His face glistened with cold sweat in the dim light of the room and as he gasped for breath he felt a bed beneath him. A ceiling came into focus overhead. For a split second he prayed that everything, the barricade, the wounds, the casualties, the disaster, had only been a terrible, terrible nightmare. The illusion was shattered as pain seared through his gunshot wounds. As he struggled to handle the pain it dawned on him then that he was not alone. He took a slow and ragged breath to steel himself, then turned his head. The sight of Combeferre tugged a strange whimper of hope and despair from him that caught in his throat.    
  


"Mon amour!" Courfeyrac rolled as much as he could and cupped Combeferre’s white cheek.    
"Oh mon coeur, please wake up. Please..." His vision blurred with tears and his wounds ached with every sob. “Do not leave me now.” His plea gave in to muffled prayers.    
  
Combeferre started awake and his face twisted in pain. The bayonet of a gendarme had left a nasty gash that arched from the left of his rib cage to his right hip, but miraculously it was shallow enough not to damage his internal organs. He blinked up at Courfeyrac as he pulled him into his arms.

  
"I'm here," Combeferre managed through a wince and he gently urged Courfeyrac to lay back against the bed lest his wounds reopen. He placed his hand over Courfeyrac's and Courfeyrac could see the regret etched into his face.

  
"You've been shot," Combeferre explained to Courfeyrac in a voice that trembled, "you need to lie still."   
  


Courfeyrac’s tears changed from tears of grief to tears of relief.   
  


"Oh, I love you. I love you.” The words spilled out of Courfeyrac’s lips before he could think them through, fuelled by pure relief. Despite the pain and the gasps that he had to fight to speak, Courfeyrac’s voice was filled with determination.

 

“You are wounded as well, you need help! I need to clean your wounds -" Courfeyrac hissed as pain shot through his own, but he had clearly made up his mind to help.    
"N-need to bandage you." He looked faint but he held on to his consciousness to stay with Combeferre.

  
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Combeferre protested. He wasn't.     
"Please lie still, please, mon coeur." Combeferre cradled Courfeyrac's head in his hands and rested his forehead against his.   
  


"I love you," Combeferre pressed a shaking kiss against Courfeyrac’s forehead.

"Mon coeur, I love you and I thought I had lost you. Without you I-I," Combeferre faltered and kissed him again before he buried his face in Courfeyrac's neck.   
  


"I love you." Courfeyrac kissed him gently. 

"And you are a stubborn ass."

 

"Says you." Combeferre replied with a wan smile. 

 

Courfeyrac sat up with a stifled cry of pain and clutched at his own wounds until his head stopped spinning. He took up the cloth left in the basin by the bed and waited again for his head to steady before he stripped Combeferre of his tattered waistcoat and shirt to wash his wounds - which drew a hiss of pain from Combeferre as the dried blood tugged at the edges of his wounds. Courfeyrac’s stomach churned at the sight of them. 

 

Courfeyrac had killed men. He had blood on his hands and it stained his soul. He had seen his friends mowed down by grapeshot, but this was different. They were alone. They were safe. They were in private. Combeferre’s wounds were overwhelming against the domesticity of the setting- and those bloody trenches cut into his own heart.

  
Courfeyrac was very aware of Combeferre’s eyes on him as he watched his every movement, his brow creased in worry. The pain must have proved too much for it wasn’t long before Combeferre stopped Courfeyrac's hand and set the cloth aside. Courfeyrac’s own brow creased as he fixed Combeferre with a concerned look.

Combeferre avoided his gaze, his voice quiet when he finally spoke.

"Just lie with me."   
  
"I am nearly finished." Courfeyrac argued, and his voice caught as he spoke.    
He finished cleaning up Combeferre's wounds as gently as he could, then stripped what was left of Combeferre's shirt and used it to bandage him. Once he had finished that, he practically collapsed beside him and lost consciousness.

  
Combeferre swallowed visibly and settled back against the bed. He slept instantly. When he woke he looked no stronger for his rest. He winced with the movement but reached out to card his fingers through Courfeyrac's curls and rest his hand at his neck to remind himself with every pulse beneath his touch that his love was there.   
  


"Ferre..." Courfeyrac spoke and salt trails had dried against his cheek but he seemed to have run out of tears to shed.   
"I'm scared."

  
"Me too," Combeferre admitted, his voice small and weak and so unlike his usual self.    
"We cannot stay in Paris," he managed after a moment.   
  
Courfeyrac's eyes welled with tears again. It felt like Paris was their last friend being torn away from them and Enjolras' smile shone in his mind's eye and he sobbed until he was dizzy and numb. It was a moment before he could speak again.

  
"Where?"   
  
"I do not know. I do not know where to go, but Paris is not safe for us." 

  
Courfeyrac understood. They had to stay alive, free and uncaptured. For the sake of their friends who had not been so fortunate. Courfeyrac sought Combeferre’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  
"What about...your parents? Their home?"   
  


Combeferre  was silent for a long moment, his eyes haunted and far away but he ultimately nodded.He could not deny that nowhere would be safe for them than Eguisheim. Eguisheim was closer to Switzerland than Paris and far, far away from their squashed rebellion.

  
Combeferre shook his head and cleared his throat and looked much more focused for it.

 

"Yes, we will go to Eguisheim when we are able. Right now I doubt either one of us able to make it down the hall, let alone across the country."

  
Courfeyrac nodded, then winced from the movement.   
"What will we do?" He whispered urgently.   
"I do not want to die like this. We need a doctor!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre and Courfeyrac finally receive the medical attention they desperately need. This is the last chapter where they can't move around we swear, stay tuned!

  
"Please lie still," Combeferre begged as he smoothed the matted curls away from Courfeyrac’s face. He tried to ignore how they hung lank and clotted with blood as he gently urged him back against the pillows.

  
"I will speak with the innkeeper." Perhaps she could summon a doctor for them that had not been nearly sliced in two, and preferably one that would grant them discretion.

 

Courfeyrac managed to call out enough to get the inn keeper’s attention. It barely took more than a look at them to send her on her way, the poor woman had gone white at the mere sight of them. 

 

Courfeyrac let out a muffled sob as they waited.   
"I just want to go home."    
"I do too," Combeferre replied. He tangled a hand in Courfeyrac's hair and held their foreheads together, tears welling in his eyes all the while.   
"We'll get through this," he promised, his voice more focused than it had been the entire evening. "Together, mon coeur, we'll get through this. I love you," his eyes felt heavy, his entire body felt as if it were made of lead. 

"My Baptiste. My love, my heart, my life, I love you." He was so tired, so tired. His eyes closed and he started to lose consciousness.    
  
"Stay with me darling." Courfeyrac’s voice reached him through the haze.   
"Tell me about when you were little, hm? Tell me about when you'd play in the grass and pluck the seeds from the sunflowers. That story was always my favorite."

  
"You will see." Combeferre told him and squeezed his hand, a silent reassurance that he was still with him. 

"We will walk through the sunflowers together. Emilie and I used to weave the stalks together and we would live in our fortress of flowers for hours, long after the sun had gone down. Oh, she will love you." It took all of Combeferre’s strength just to clutch Courfeyrac’s hand and stay conscious.   
  
"A fortress of flowers..." A tear ran down Courfeyrac’s cheek when he closed his eyes to picture it.   
"Your hair, it must have been even lighter then, no? It must have been pure light like a little angel with mud on his cheek." He opened his eyes again to smile weakly at him.

 

"Near white at times, bleached by the sun." 

  
"Did your Emilie ever weave flowers into your golden hair?"   
  
Courfeyrac’s smile, fragile as it was, replaced all else and eased the horror behind Combeferre's eyes. He clung to it like a lifeline. 

 

"On the contrary, mon cher, I wove them into hers. She stuck twigs behind my ears and flowers behind my glasses and we chased each other for hours through the fields; a brave princess and a woodland monster ever at odds."

  
Courfeyrac took in a labored breath and let it out in a sigh.   
"My little monster."   
He gazed at Combeferre, far taller than him and larger in every way, but he'd always be his little monster nonetheless.   
"I want to lay in the fields with you and watch the clouds roll by."   
  
"And you shall," this time it was Combeferre that smiled, small and weak, but his first smile since the barricade had fallen. 

"Grass is much more forgiving than brick; we shall spend the day with our backs in the grass and our eyes on the clouds and we'll watch the sun set and paint the fields in shrouds of gold."   
  
"Do not speak to me of shrouds." Courfeyrac whispered, his smile faltering.   
"Only of warmth and light and you in my arms."   
More tears slipped down his cheek as he spoke.   
"It's only June." he said, his voice shaking.   
"Will there still be sunflowers?"   
  
Combeferre brushed the tears from Courfeyrac's pale cheeks and kissed his brow, his own lips shaking. 

"They will be the first thing we see," he promised, "fields of sunflowers for as far as the eye can see and Eguisheim hidden just beyond them."   
  
Courfeyrac managed to shift his battered body enough to press up against Combeferre without putting pressure on his stomach and he kissed him desperately. He had to break on occasion just to breathe through his tears.   
"That sounds...perfect my love."   
He spoke between gasps and kisses until he heard footsteps on the stairs.   
  
The arrival of the doctor meant the loss of Courfeyrac's lips on Combeferre’s, but this once the interruption was a welcome one.   
  


There was a knock on the door and the innkeeper saw the doctor in and then excused herself. Her usually spritely face was drawn and pale and she avoided meeting Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s eyes and it was clear by the pain on her face that she saw her own sons in them. 

 

The doctor looked them over and it was no secret how they had received their wounds, but there was no distrust in his eyes.  He was a man who had spoken his Hippocratic Oath from the heart, and he had seen the world through the same eyes that Combeferre had. He had seen the sickness and hunger in the streets and so many deaths that could have been prevented if only things were different.   
  


He was a small man with gentle eyes and Combeferre's heart wrenched at the sight of him  - he could have been Joly if Joly had ever been given the chance to see more years. He introduced himself as François-Joseph Double. 

 

Combeferre immediately nodded to Courfeyrac. 

"Attend him first."   
"Stubborn." Courfeyrac had tears welling in his eyes as he spoke.    
"I've only...bullet wounds. He's been slashed open." Courfeyrac argued weakly.    
  
The doctor, treacherous and sensible fellow that he was, sided with Courfeyrac and began his inspection of Combeferre's wounds. The man talked the entire time, listing organs and arteries that _could_  have been damaged as if Combeferre did not know and as if Courfeyrac _needed_ to know. He cleansed the wounds with a solution of alcohol and stitched them in what Combeferre would have considered lovely, fine sutures had he not been the one receiving them.   
Hours later, Combeferre had been mended, drugged, and was struggling to remain conscious as the doctor turned to his dear Courfeyrac.   
  
Courfeyrac had vomited what was left of the food in his stomach. It was too much to see the full extent of Combeferre's wounds, especially in combination with the doctors softly spoken conjectures and Combeferre's cries of pain.    
He was white and slicked with cold sweat by the time Double turned to him. Combeferre placed his hand in Courfeyrac's weakly. He had already checked that Courfeyrac’s wounds were clean, and that the bullets had entered and exited. The doctor patched the wounds and continued to mutter, talking himself through the processes of healing and naming the awful things that _could_  have happened, such as a grapeshot hitting bone and splintering it and he launched into a vivid description of removing the shards from muscle.   
Combeferre had the sluggish notion that the man was trying to make them feel fortunate, as if everyone they loved had not died while they lived, as if the world they fought so fiercely to change was not still the same. It seemed like hours later when he finished with Courfeyrac. Combeferre did not hear the doctor's final words or the door swing shut behind him, nor did he hear the innkeeper enter with stew, but he knew somewhere in his drugged mind that he was glad to be rid of the gentle doctor.   
  
\---

 

Courfeyrac's exhaustion mixed with the laudanum had Courfeyrac completely unconscious and he slept so soundly that he didn't even dream he was simply gone. When he woke he felt as if no time had passed at all and it was disorienting. He was so so thirsty and his empty stomach churned.    
"Ferre?"   
  


There was one small window in their room that had been covered with a heavy curtain that kept the room dark, and so when Combeferre started awake at Courfeyrac's soft voice he didn't know if it was night or day. He didn't really care and couldn't be bothered to care for much except for the man beside him.    
  


"I'm here," he whispered shakily and sought his hand with cold, trembling fingers despite the heat of June. Courfeyrac tightened his hand around his.

  
"You're so cold." He frowned with chapped lips.    
"Have you eaten anything?"   
He felt alright if he held completely still.   
"No," Combeferre shook his head. Eating was the last thing he wanted to do, despite how he knew he needed it, they both did. "The innkeeper left a stew, I don't know how long ago, and she's brought fresh water at some point."   
  


Combeferre tested moving and found it bearable if he kept it to a minimum. He then tested sitting and his head spun, but he was able to remain upright. He reached for the water and managed, albeit barely, to pour a glass and gently held it to Courfeyrac's lips with the silent offer to help him lift his head. Courfeyrac accepted the water gratefully. He choked a little from the angle but generally managed.    
  


"Now you." Courfeyrac let his eyes close for a moment as he regained his strength.   
Combeferre didn't have to be told twice. He drank what he could, his itchy throat rejoicing.     
"Will you let me help you eat?"   
  


Courfeyrac considered, trying to assess his condition without moving much.    
"If you eat."   
  


"I will," Combeferre promised softly and helped him to sit up as gently as he could, his stitches screaming in protest.   
He reached for the bowl of stew and sat with it in his lap, offering a bite to Courfeyrac and then having one himself, and so on and so on.    
Courfeyrac appreciated Combeferre's fair and equal approach to the whole thing and the lump in his throat made it hard to swallow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre and Courfeyrac have recovered enough to return to Combeferre's hometown of Eguisheim.

Weeks later Combeferre found himself in a small and nondescript carriage, his long legs stretched out and propped on the bench opposite him as Courfeyrac dozed against his shoulder. Their wounds had healed enough to where Combeferre didn't have to fret that Courfeyrac's would reopen with every bump of the carriage, though he did all the same.

 

The days were long and the late afternoon sun shone golden over the fields just as the telltale patches of farmland and sunflower fields of Eguisheim came into view nestled in a broad valley and guarded on all sides by the mountains and wildflowers.

 

Combeferre pressed a kiss to Courfeyrac's curls and squeezed his hand. 

"Wake up mon amour or else you'll miss the flowers."

 

Courfeyrac laughed through his sleep.   
"Silly bear, flowers don't walk."

Combeferre managed a sad smile at that. That small laugh uttered through sleep was the most genuine laugh he had heard from Courfeyrac in too long. Courfeyrac still smiled and laughed as he always had but both were much fewer and far between these days, and his smile never met his eyes.

Combeferre pressed another kiss to his temple, this time giving his uninjured shoulder the slightest of nudges. 

"Flowers don't walk, mon cher, but carriages roll and right now we are rolling right past them."

"Oh! The sunflowers!" Courfeyrac sat up so quickly that he winced in pain, but he looked out the window eagerly.  
"Ahhh!! Combeferre look at the sunflowers!"

 

Combeferre smiled, his gaze directed at Courfeyrac rather than the sunflowers. He had wished to bring Courfeyrac here under much kinder circumstances. Even though he was returning home, he felt he had never left it, not while Courfeyrac had been next to him. 

"I see them," he said softly when he realized that he had been staring. "We're nearly there."

 

Courfeyrac turned from the sunflowers and looked back at his Combeferre, whose gold hair always kept the sun and flowers close beside him. Suddenly a thought passed over his honest face. He frowned nervously and looked much older for it.

"Do you think that they will like me?"

"They will love you," Combeferre smoothed the curls away from Courfeyrac’s face and kissed his forehead. "And not only because I do; I've yet to meet anyone that can resist your charm."

Courfeyrac gave him a smile that was at once genuine and weary.  
"I have."

 

Courfeyrac took Combeferre's hand and thread his fingers with his and held his hand in his lap. Combeferre squeezed his hand in return and watched Eguisheim grow around them with her sprawling, circular streets, and just as quickly as they entered the village, they passed through it. It was dusk when the carriage clambered its way up the winding path to his parent's home. It was just as he remembered it, though perhaps smaller, and the flowering vines that climbed the walls were blooming in the half dark when he stepped out of the carriage.

 

As soon as Combeferre stepped out of the carriage the wind was knocked out of him as Emilie ran and threw her arms around him, her book, forgotten, clattered to the ground. 

"Oh Henri, I thought you'd never arrive!"

Had he his strength, Combeferre would have lifted her into his arms and twirled her about as was their tradition, but instead he let out a hiss of pain and gently pried Emilie from himself and kissed her wild golden curls. Before he could even get a word out Emilie had all but climbed into the carriage.

"Now where is Monsieur Courfeyrac? Ah, I've heard so much about you!"

 

"Lovely to see you as well," Combeferre called after her, but his words fell on deaf ears.

 

Courfeyrac had gone white when Emilie flung herself at Combeferre, but upon seeing that he was alright he sat back in the carriage a moment longer to regain his composure. It was barely a heartbeat later that a lovely curly head popped into view.

"Who is this? My dear Combeferre, you never told me that you had the beautiful Aphrodite for a sister!"  
Courfeyrac smiled at Emilie and his eyes twinkled. She had the same gold spun hair as Combeferre and the same bright blue eyes, though somehow she brought Enjolras painfully to mind and it took some effort not to let himself give in to a dark mood.

"I had heard you were quite charming, Monsieur," Emilie blushed and ducked back out of the carriage to scold her brother. 

"Henri, you've sold him short in your letters, leave it to you to ramble on and on about his charm and wit and leave out those sparkling eyes! For shame - shame on you! You leave me in the countryside with nothing to do but wonder and wander while your letters offer only a taste of intrigue with no reward. How am I ever to-"

"Emilie, for the love of all that is sacred, won't you at least let the poor man out of the carriage?"

 

Emilie ducked back into the carriage.  
"Oh, I am so glad you've both arrived safely. I have been worried sick since news reached us of...well, I am happy you both are here." She smiled warmly at him and took Courfeyrac’s hand in her own. He looked a shell of the man that Henri had described in his letters, but who could blame him after what the two of them had been through. It was a miracle that either of them had survived, and how lucky they were to be together.

 

"I'm sure you are weary from your travels," Emilie hopped from the carriage with all of the grace of a bumpkin and turned to crane her neck at the both of them, Combeferre stood tall beside the carriage and Courfeyrac still inside it.   
"I've convinced Maman that no guest room would do for dear Monsieur Courfeyrac, he's been given your room Henri, as dull as it is. I'm sure you won't mind staying in the one next to it. You know - the one that adjoins it." She winked and plucked the book that he had bent to retrieve for her from his hands. "Come, come, the two of you must settle in. I'm surprised Maman has not yet stormed the yard."

Courfeyrac was amused by Emilie’s country charm - just like in the stories he'd read as a child. From what he'd seen, the countryside was all he'd dreamed it would be. He gathered his strength and climbed down from the carriage, quite proud of himself for not making a sound, though by the time he set foot on the ground sweat slicked his brow and the world swam and he had to hold onto Combeferre's arm to steady himself.   
He wondered distantly what Combeferre’s sister would think when his head only just passed Combeferre’s shoulder in height.

"My dear Aphrodite, I am honored to be put in your brother's bed," He smirked at that despite himself.  
"But I've no idea what you could be referring to with that cheeky wink of yours."

 

"Of course you don't," Emilie smiled softly, sounding and looking much like her brother in that moment. She spun on her heel and darted for the house, her hair and brown dress billowing out behind her as she rushed past the doorman that had come to collect what little things they had brought with them.  
"Maman! Papa!"

Combeferre, hadn't looked away from Courfeyrac since he had climbed down from the carriage. "Are you alright?" He placed a hand over Courfeyrac's at his arm under the guise of steadying him.

"I am afraid that I have been better, mon coeur." he whispered with a forced smile.  
"It is so beautiful here. The air is so fresh."

"Let's get you inside, mon cher. It's much lovelier in the light of day, I promise." Combeferre's voice was low and soothing.

Emilie returned a moment later with another woman who could have been her significantly older twin. Monsieur Combeferre followed behind them, slow and patient in his movements. Emilie, Henri and Madame Combeferre were all fair haired and gilded like the sun, but Monsieur Combeferre was dark, his hair and eyes were near the color of night, and he exuded the same gentle kindness.

 

Combeferre was thankful for having to steady Courfeyrac as it saved him from yet another vice like grip at his middle, the first of which he was still recovering from. His mother fussed over the both of them and ushered them inside at a pace nearly faster than either of them could manage. She rattled on and on of how worried she had been for her dearest Henri ever since he had left for Paris, and how there was a fine medical school not far from Eguisheim and yet he insisted on Paris and look what had become of it. She ended her worried tirade by smoothing both Combeferre's and Courfeyrac's hair away from their faces, her eyes welling with tears as she called them "sweet boys" time and time again. Unable to embrace either of them, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and ordered the footman to have the kitchen staff prepare something hearty, as if they had not already began preparations for dinner by that time.

 

"Ma cherie, Henri and Monsieur Courfeyrac have had a long journey and I am sure that they are in great need of rest." Monsieur Combeferre's voice was mild, not unlike Combeferre's own and he caught his son's eyes with an understanding expression. Combeferre had never enjoyed being fussed over and his mother could be overbearing to say the least. His father placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, his dark eyes shining with relief the feel his son beneath his touch and then he gave them their leave.

 

\---

Courfeyrac didn't have to ask if it was Combeferre's room that they sat in. It was plain and simple and all in blue and white. He could feel Combeferre's soul in the wood of the place, like a warm haunting while he was still alive. It was so comfortable that it made his eyelids heavy.  
He eased himself onto the bed and waited for his head to stop spinning as he recovered from being in the carriage so long.

 

"How much do they know?" he whispered.

"Emilie knows everything. She accused me of loving you before I had even admitted it to myself. My mother and father, if they have suspected anything, have remained silent on the matter."   
Combeferre was laying on the bed with his eyes closed, more to fight the matching wave of dizziness than out of actual exhaustion.

Courfeyrac had managed to hold off his laughter until then and he smacked his hand playfully. It was the most genuine laugh that he could manage with his steal-healing wounds.

 

"Mon amour, I meant of the revolution."

 

"Oh! I knew that of course," Combeferre's lips twitched ever so slightly into a smile.

"I've never been particularly silent about my own dreams for a better France. Nearly as soon as talk of rebellion began in Paris I received word from my father, a simple note that said 'Remember your mother'. They know we were involved."

Courfeyrac sighed heavily. At least it didn't hurt as much to physically breathe now, aside from the weight on his chest.  
"Now that we're far from Paris I can write to my own parents."

"The sooner the better, mon cher."

Courfeyrac sat up and traced his fingertip along Combeferre's lower lip gently.  
"Emilie knew before you did?"

 

Combeferre pressed a kiss against Courfeyrac's finger and then turned his face into his palm and kissed it too. He blushed a little at the question but nodded in reply.   
"She replied to one of my letters with a single line. 'Does he know how you love him?'."

It was Courfeyrac’s turn to blush and he smiled, a smile that reached his eyes again, and to see him truly smile again caused Combeferre to nearly lose his breath and he found himself smiling as well. 

 

"I'd love to see your letters. I wonder if she has them."  
Courfeyrac mused as he carded his fingers through his Combeferre’s hair.

"I'm sure that she does, the child keeps everything. You won't find an inch of open space or a surface unburdened in her room."

 

"How long do you think I may stay here?"

"It's been made clear that you are welcome here without limit."

Courfeyrac's smile softened but the joy remained in his eyes as he saw Combeferre smile again.   
"You say that now my love, and yet if you let me I will stay here until the end of days."  
He leaned down to kiss him tenderly. Combeferre melted into the kiss and smiled against his lips. 

"My love, the end of days could come and go and I would still wish to never be parted from you, in this place or any other," When he spoke it was between soft kisses.

 

"I don't know if I feel alive again..." Courfeyrac whispered between kisses as he slid his hand down the front of Combeferre's trousers.  
"Or as if I have finally stumbled into heaven."

 

Combeferre chuckled and nuzzled against his neck.   
"As much as I want you, mon cher, I still feel very much sliced in two." He grazed his teeth over Courfeyrac's neck just for good measure or, more accurately, as revenge for all of the times Courfeyrac had teased and enticed him during meets or in the presence of company. Courfeyrac sulked dramatically and leaned back against the bed.

 

"It's been three weeks! Mon dieu, at this rate I might as well join the priesthood." He sighed dramatically, then perked up slightly and glanced back at Combeferre's door.  
"Does it lock, mon coeur?"

 

"Robes make for much easier access, I believe," Combeferre laughed softly, well used to Courfeyrac's dramatics and pleased to bear witness to them again.  
"Of course it locks," Combeferre raised a suspicious brow. "Why?"

 

Courfeyrac barely contained his wicked grin.  
"I don't need you." he got up, with far too much effort, and locked the door before returning to the bed and slipping himself from his trousers with a cheeky grin.

"Your shoulder will hate you for it," Combeferre warned, unable to hush the mother hen side of him despite how his eyes raked over Courfeyrac's body.  
Courfeyrac rolled his own eyes fondly.  
"And Monsieur Chauve à col roulé will hate me for it if I do not go through with it."   
He positioned himself to be as comfortable as possible while also presenting Combeferre with a fine view and reached down to touch himself.


	5. Chapter 5

In the end it was Combeferre who had worked Courfeyrac into completion, neither of them able to resist the other.

 

Courfeyrac’s spent cock slid from Combeferre’s swollen lips and Combeferre smirked up at him. 

"Don't need me, you say?"   
  


Courfeyrac's face was completely flushed and his breath came in desperate heaves as he tried to glare at him but the sight of himself sliding against his lips alone threatened to harden him again.    
"Cheeky bastard."   
  
"You love me," Combeferre grinned, not unlike the cheeky bastard that he was accused of being, and laid next to him. He felt incredibly sore but happy for the first time in too long, even if it was only for the moment.   
  
"I do." Courfeyrac chuckled.    
"Bastard."

He curled up next to Combeferre, avoiding weight on his shoulder.    
"I love you."   
He kissed him gently and Combeferre smiled against his lips and brushed Courfeyrac's curls back as he returned it.

"I love you."

 

"You look beautiful." Courfeyrac whispered, his voice still breathless.   
  
Combeferre replied with a soft chuckle. 

"Says the most beautiful man I've ever seen." He tsked softly and pressed a kiss to his nose. "How do you feel, mon cher?"   
  
"Amazing." Courfeyrac smiled broadly and nuzzled into Combeferre.    
"That was amazing and your smile is a welcome sight indeed."   
  
"Yours as well," Combeferre wrapped an arm around him and buried his face in Courfeyrac's dark hair. "It does better for my spirit than any medicine, truth be told."   
Combeferre held him close and let his eyes close, not out of exhaustion, but contentedness. 

 

"Do you remember when first we kissed, mon cher?"   
  
Courfeyrac giggled at that.    
"Of course. You tried to hide behind your book to disguise your attempt to kiss me, but nothing gets past me."   
  
Combeferre laughed as he recalled the night in question. 

"I was so nervous. Even then, I loved you too much to risk losing your company. I'm forever thankful that you had the good sense to toss that book aside; my life's been better for it."   
  
"Voltaire was a bitter old cod anyway - a real mood killer."   
Courfeyrac snorted and kissed Combeferre again.   
  
"To tell you the truth, mon cher, I don't think I retained a single word of it. How could I with you sitting opposite?"   
  
Courfeyrac chuckled again.   
"I remember that book because it hid your beautiful face. I bought it for myself a week later because I was curious about the man who hid behind it, but I couldn't tell you for the life of me which book I hid behind myself."   
  


Combeferre propped his head in his hand and smiled down at him with fond eyes. "My love, you hid behind the 1829 Revue Encyclopédique. I remember because I was wondering what on earth you could be studying with such vigor."   
  
Courfeyrac blushed and smiled sweetly.   
"I was studying a fine specimen of manhood." He giggled and thread his fingers with his as he gazed at him. Combeferre laughed as well and gently trailed his fingers along Courfeyrac's cheek.

 

"I knew then that I never wished to be parted from you."   
  
"When you saw me studying so seriously from the Encyclopedique?" He quirked an eyebrow with a skeptical grin.   
  
"Yes, mon cher, at exactly that moment." Combeferre rolled his eyes and sighed but he was smiling. "I was referring to the moment that you read my mind, as you do, and nearly pulled me across the table. Though, you know, now that I think of it, I believe I knew even before then."   
  
"Of course you did. I knew it too, I just didn't realize it. Why else would we stalk one another like prey around an empty library for hours without even an exam? Do you know how long it took to track you down since the first time I saw you?" he laughed.   
  
"Enlighten me."

Combeferre gently trailed his fingers down Courfeyrac's back. He smiled fondly at the memory of their unwitting game of cat and mouse around the library.   
  
"A week." Courfeyrac announced, blushing but trying to look dignified in spite of it.   
"I first saw you walk by with your head planted in a book and I ... I stared so long that I forgot myself entirely and by the time I had the sense to try and speak to you you'd vanished like one of Marius' love interests."   
  
"A ghost, you say," Combeferre imitated Pontmercy and smiled wryly. He wondered what had become of that booby and said a silent prayer for him.   
"I remember when first I saw you. You were scolding Enjolras over his sloppy cravat and all but fixing it for him. I had never seen the man look frightened until then; I simply had to meet you after that."   
  
Courfeyrac gave a soggy laugh as his eyes instantly filled with tears.   
"Man never could keep his cravat tied." he sniffed and wiped his eyes.   
"A-and he was hardly frightened. I've never been intimidating."   
  
"You can be," Combeferre's own eyes teared. He felt the loss of Enjolras deep in his heart, his soul, as if a large piece of him had been carved away and left to bleed. He'd never hear his voice, or his laugh again, never carry him to bed or argue the purpose of lunch with him, nor would he ever squeeze his hands and assure him that tomorrow would be kinder. Not that it had helped. Tomorrow hadn't been kinder, it had torn his friends asunder. 

"He wore a proper cravat for a week after that episode, I would say that he was frightened enough." Combeferre sighed and squeezed Courfeyrac's hand and bit his lip to keep his tears from falling.   
  
"The longest that man ever wore his cravat." Courfeyrac managed around his tears.   
"Idiot, no wonder he always caught cold."   
He gave in and was wracked by sobs and hugged Combeferre tightly.   
"I miss him."   
  


"I miss him too."

Combeferre whispered softly through his own tears and he held Courfeyrac against him despite the discomfort to his wounds. It was pain that he deserved for living while his friends had died. It was a constant reminder of their sacrifice. If given the chance Combeferre would have traded his life for theirs and never thought twice of it, but he had been given no choice. 

  
"We will see him again. One day. He rests in the gardens of the Lord and organizes the cherubs and Seraphim for equality amongst the angels. He had to go ahead of us to make heaven grander."   
  
Courfeyrac offered Combeferre a soggy smile but he did look a little happier at the thought.   
"Trust our Enjolras to make it so."   
He took a deep breath, let it out, then curled up against Combeferre.   
"We should make a garden for them. A rose for every man."   
"Excellent idea, mon cher, we shall do just that." 

 

Combeferre pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead and held him close. The pain would last forever but Courfeyrac was his reprieve. They had survived while everyone they loved had passed, but they had been fortunate enough to survive together. It was the only blessing Combeferre could count. "We shall do just that."

 

\---

 

Emilie had been stalking Monsieur Courfeyrac through the sunflowers for quite some time, which wasn't necessarily difficult as Monsieur Courfeyrac seemed to be lost in thought and her head barely reached above mid-stalk of the flowers.

 

She had been dying to get to know Monsieur Courferyac but had hardly a chance to pry Henri from his side - which was understandable and to be expected as they were obviously very much in love and very much in mourning - but she could not help her natural curiosity. She had noticed how they often teared at the sight of her and she recalled mention of one of their friends from Henri's letters, the passionate one with the wild golden hair, and she had since taken to fashioning her own wild hair into a tight braid to dull the resemblance.   
  
Deciding that this was as good a time as any, Emilie slipped out of the cover of flowers and looped her arm through Courfeyrac's. She smiled brightly up at him.

 

"Monsieur Courfeyrac, won't you stroll with me? It's far too lovely a day to walk alone."

 

Courfeyrac gave a startled jump and it took his heart a moment to stop racing as he patted Emilie's hand and took deep, coughing breaths.   
  


"You startled me!" He smiled gently at Emilie, but his eyes were distant..   
"Of course my dear Aphrodite, I would like nothing more."

 

Emilie beamed up at him and placed her hand over his at her arm. 

 

"You must forgive me for that, monsieur; I've been told that I've all the grace and tact of a sheepdog." She winked.   
"How are you finding Eguisheim, monsieur? Not nearly as exciting as Paris I'm sure."   
  


Courfeyrac offered her that same crooked, gentle smile.   
  


"Not nearly, and thank God for that. I used to think that I should like to live in Paris for the rest of my days - that I would never tire of her - but now I am happy to be surrounded by the flowers and the quiet of this beautiful place."   
  
"Quiet and flowers are all Eguisheim has to offer and she offers them in abundance, but she is a pleasant place to call home."   
Emilie walked in silence with him for several moments and could practically feel Henri's eyes boring into her. 

  
"I had hoped we would meet under kinder circumstances, monsieur, though from my brother's letters I feel as if I met you long ago."   
Emilie squinted against the sun and stared down the path. 

"Speaking of letters, here comes the courier." She sighed dramatically, 

"Sadly my only source of mail is back at home. Not to say that I'm sad that my brother is here, but oh how I do love receiving letters."   
  
"Then I will send you one." Courfeyrac promised with a smile.   
"On your birthday, regardless of where I might be, and it will be in my remarkable penmanship so you must treasure it." He winked at her.   
"Combeferre said you must have kept the letters you spoke of. If it is no intrusion, I would love to see them. I am curious what your dear brother wrote of me."   
  
"Oh, I keep everything," Emilie's eyes sparkled, "and I shall treasure any letter from you - and dear Courfeyrac I would be delighted to show you Henri's letters. Put a quill in his hand and he becomes quite the rambler, so it shall be a lengthy affair. Perhaps over tea?"   
  
"I look forward to his letters, especially if they are as lengthy as the rest of him." Courfeyrac offered her a cheeky wink.   
  
"I now feel as if I know a bit too much about my brother," Emilie giggled.    
  
Emilie greeted the courier and received a parcel of letters and rewarded the old man with her most charming smile. She began to flip through them and many of them were addressed to her despite her earlier claim that she didn't receive mail. She tossed the ones addressed to her aside (as they were from potential suitors and not the mail she wanted by any means). 

 

"All for Papa, of course," she sighed and flipped through them again and would occasionally try to lift the front fold of one up without breaking the wax seal.   
  
"Why do you ignore them? Your suitors?" Courfeyrac pried gently, a test to see how much information he could get out of her before he had to back off. He hadn’t had many chances to speak one on one with Emilie and he was naturally curious about Combeferre’s sister.   
  
Emilie sighed in reply.

"Oh monsieur, I can't be bothered to be some rich man's wife - to sit quietly and smile and nod when beckoned and otherwise be expected to behave. Why, that's hardly a life at all!"   
  
"That does sound dreadfully boring, but why not play with them a little? I do love watching pretty boys trip over one another for one’s attention. We should have a party, and we can judge them like prancing peacocks and then send them home with their pride broken and their tails between their legs."   
  
"Monsieur Courfeyrac!" Emilie gasped and swatted his arm, 

"I _like_ the way you think, sir! Shame on Henri for hiding you away in Paris for all of these years," she tsked.

  
"He probably feared what a terrible combination we would make." Courfeyrac poked the tip of Emilie's nose with a grin. 

 

"I shall mention the party to Papa when I deliver the letters. He can be quite doting if the mood strikes."   
  
"That would be lovely." He sighed wistfully.   
"Perhaps the company and the noise will distract us from the pain of our losses."   
  
"I think a bit of noise and company would do absolute wonders for the soul, both yours and mine and perhaps even Henri's if the old duddy could be persuaded to join. Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. My dearest brother!"   
  
Combeferre raised a brow at Emilie, or rather, at both of them as he approached. "I'm only your dearest brother when you have need of me," he pointed out mildly.

  
"Nonsense, Henri, you're my only brother, that makes you the dearest by default. Honestly!" Emilie tsked again and bade them farewell before she bounded off toward the house.

  
"Until we meet again fair, Aphrodite!"


	6. Chapter 6

Courfeyrac waved to Emilie then turned to Combeferre, beaming, and thread his arm through his.   
"And how are you my dearest heart?" He whispered.   
  


Combeferre wore only trousers rolled to the ankle and a white shirt, he had even forsaken shoes and he looked as if he had never left Eguisheim a day in his life. He absently trailed a hand across his stomach. 

 

"There's that word again," Combeferre teased lightly, "'dearest'. From you I don't mind it nearly as much. I've removed the stitches," he said in answer to Courfeyrac's question, "I never thought I would be so happy to stand up straight. How are you, mon cher?"   
  
Courfeyrac ran his hand down Combeferre's stomach tenderly.   
"You'll have to show me later." He looked up at him with a gleam in his eye.   
"I am quite alright, I have found a new friend in your sister. She is a lively thing, poor girl. I think she would love Paris."   
He leaned against Combeferre, feigning that he needed him as support to even though everyone knew the real motivation by now. Combeferre dutifully played the role and reveled in their closeness.    
  


"Let us watch the sun set." Courfeyrac said more softly.   
  
"She would love Paris yes," Combeferre agreed, still thinking of Emilie. "But, she would be lost there. Emilie is wild and to her Paris would be a gilded cage."   
He had to restrain himself from pressing a kiss to Courfeyrac's hair as he led him through the grounds. On the west side of the grounds there was a knoll littered with wild flowers that caught the arching light of the setting sun and glowed like candles. The slope would offer a perfect view of the setting sun.   
  


Courfeyrac smiled as he settled back into the grass and wildflowers and gazed up at the sky that was strewn with clouds that gathered like patches of lavender and roses above him.   
"This is paradise." he whispered, hoping that wherever his friends had gone was as lovely as this place.   
  
Combeferre gently eased himself down beside Courfeyrac, a soft smile on his face. 

"I hadn't realized how I missed this place," he admitted softly.    
  


The sun began to sink low in the sky, staining the countryside in brilliant hues that slowly shifted into a brilliant and fiery red. It was almost as if Enjolras was there with them on that knoll.   
  


Combeferre took Courfeyrac's hand in his and thread their fingers together.   
  
"You look radiant here mon amour.” Courfeyrac’s voice was barely above the whisper of the grass.    
“You look as fresh as the flowers. I've never seen you so free."   
He lifted Combeferre's hand to kiss it.    
"I can smell the wind and the meadow in your hair."   
  
"The sunset always did release your inner poet." Combeferre smiled and lifted Courferyac’s chin to kiss him gently. 

 

Courfeyrac rolled a little in the grass to accommodate his kisses and ran his fingers through Combeferre’s hair with a smile against his lips. He felt alive again for the first time since he had closed his eyes at the foot of the barricade. He felt Combeferre sigh and trail a hand down his back and let out a soft sound of amusement at the fine fabric of his jacket - Courfeyrac insisted upon dressing to the nines even in the countryside. Courfeyrac’s breath caught as he felt Combeferre trail his nose along his jaw to kiss the base of his ear and press kisses down his neck. When it was too much to bear he crawled over top of Combeferre, carefully avoiding his still recovering stomach.    
  


"A-are we safe here?"   
  
Combeferre lazily trailed his fingers along Courfeyrac's spine and nodded up at him, a small smile playing at his lips. He leaned up to kiss him again, loathe to be parted from his lips for too long. An excited shiver ran through Courfeyrac at every one of Combeferre’s gentle touches and he moaned softly against Combeferre’s lips as he ran his fingers through his hair.    
  


"You're like summer wind." He breathed against his lips and ran his hand tenderly down his torso as he tugged his shirt untucked. With slow, deliberate movements he slid Combeferre’s suspenders from his shoulders.   
  
"If I am the wind, you are the rain," Combeferre breathed against his neck as he slid his coat from his shoulders. Courfeyrac giggled, though his voice was was breathless.

 

"I'm moist and sting your eyes?" Courfeyrac teased as he slid his hands down to Combeferre’s trousers.

  
"Yes, exactly that," Combeferre rolled his eyes and shook his head. His smile was so wide that he could barely manage the kiss his pressed against Courfeyrac's lips, and it made Courfeyrac feel more healed and more alive than all of the fresh air and sunflowers ever could. 

"It's been far too long," Combeferre  whispered.

"The rain here is not like the rains of Paris. Here the rain is welcome, a promise of a new beginning and a chance for life to grow. When I find myself becoming lost, or crestfallen, you come to me like the rain."    
He let out a soft moan as Courfeyrac’s hand finally became too distracting against him.   
Courfeyrac unbuttoned Combeferre's trousers with steady movements as he returned each kiss with an extra in between.    
  


"Then, let the Spring rain wash over you mon amour."   
He ran his hand down Combeferre’s exposed length and kissed down his neck with increasing desperation, his breath hot against his skin. Combeferre let his head fall back as a moan escaped his lips. He pressed up against Courfeyrac's hand and tangled a hand in his hair, desperate to feel any of him and all of him. It had been too long, too long since he had known his touch, too long since he had felt this whole, this safe, this alive. He had been surviving, Combeferre realized, for his own sake and for Courfeyrac's but surviving was all that he had been doing, not unlike the fields in the heat of summer, but now his love was with him and loved him like the rain loved the earth and Combeferre loved and needed him with the same natural ferocity. 

 

"Mon amour," Combeferre begged breathlessly and tightened his grip on those dark curls he loved so fiercely. Courfeyrac hushed him with a kiss and teased his thumb up over his tip, then abandoned his touch on his cock to strip from his trousers and kick them off along with his shoes. 

  
"I don't want to hurt you."    
Courfeyrac whispered between increasingly breathless kisses.    
"You'll have to be on top."   
He brushed his lips against Combeferre’s ear and ground his hips against his, taking care to rub their already stiff cocks together before rolling onto his back.   
  


"Gets you off your shoulder," Combeferre agreed with a wry smile and rolled on top of him. He pressed their lips together hungrily and made quick work of the remaining layers of Courfeyrac's clothing. He reached in between their bodies to take both of them into his hand and stroke them in time as he buried his face into Courfeyrac's neck and breathed his name. He only released them so that he could tease him open, but Courfeyrac stopped him.   
  


“What is it?” Combeferre struggled not to sound annoyed.   
The grin that Courfeyrac offered him was perfectly wicked. He reached into his coat and fished a small bottle out from inside one of the pockets.    
  


“I explained to Madame Eleanor that I sorely missed snacking on bread and olive oil back in Paris and the poor dear took pity on me.” Courfeyrac had become good friends with the Combeferre family cook, and Combeferre suddenly realized just how valuable their friendship would prove to be.   
  
“I love you.”    
“I know.” Courfeyrac passed the bottle to Combeferre with a coy look.   
  
Combeferre slicked his fingers with the oil and couldn’t help but to grin down at Courfeyrac.   
“Smells delicious.”   
“Of course, it’s fit for the delicacy that is me.”   
  


Combeferre snorted and nipped Courfeyrac’s smirking lips as he slipped his hand between his legs once more. He took special care in preparing him and giving him time for his body to adjust to being filled before he withdrew his fingers and settled in between his legs. He took care not to anger the still healing wound at Courfeyrac's leg as he lined himself up. He entered him with a ragged breath and pressed their foreheads together.   
Courfeyrac gasped and let out an eager whine as he finally felt pleasantly filled with him.    
  


"Ahh Combe- ooh! Oh god!" He arched his back beneath Combeferre and took ragged breaths as he adjusted to the feel of him inside of him again. 

  
"G-God you feel good!"   
He gripped the back of Combeferre's neck and kept his forehead against his for a heartbeat longer before pressing himself down against him impatiently.   
  
"God, I've missed the feel of you," Combeferre moaned, breathless as a shiver ran through his body as Courfeyrac began to move against him. Combeferre matched his movements and rolled his hips to thrust into him, their bodies moving together as if they had been crafted by the gods for one another. Combeferre thread their fingers together and pressed Courfeyrac's hand into the soft grass as he claimed him. He attempted to be gentle at first, but Combeferre needed him, wanted him too fiercely and it wasn’t long before he quickened his pace.    
  


"Ooh god!"   
Courfeyrac let his head fall back against the grass, somewhere distant in the back of his mind he realized that he'd be itchy later for it. He pushed the thought aside with a crooked smile and tangled his free hand in Combeferre's hair. He moaned wantonly (ah, the freedom to be loud!) and arched beneath him. He tightened his hand around Combeferre’s and gazed up at him through eyes that were heavily lidded as he struggled not to let them close.    
  


"God you're beautiful."   
  


Combeferre smiled against his neck and nipped at his ear in return.

 

"Says the most beautiful man alive," he trailed lazy kisses along his jaw as he rolled their hips together. He clutched his hand tighter as his lips found purchase against Courfeyrac's, muffling his sigh. He savored the thought that the most beautiful man that had ever lived was right there with him, beneath him, more beautiful than the field around them painted aflame by the setting sun. The sun, either rising or setting, could never compare to Courfeyrac in his eyes.

  
"God, how I love you," Combeferre breathed against Courfeyrac’s lips.

  
"Ferre!" Courfeyrac whimpered and released his hair to cup his cheek.    
"I love you!" He breathed between desperate and lingering kisses as he felt dizzy with the heady pleasure of him inside of him again. They were alive again and whole. For a few blissful minutes it could be as if none of the horrors of Paris had ever happened. It was just him and Combeferre and their bodies twined as one between the earth and the darkening sky that was already filled with stars.

  
"Always," Combeferre turned his face into Courfeyrac's palm and kissed it as he trailed his own hand reverently down his body with an expert touch. He took him into his hand and stroked him with the same pace as his thrusts. Every sigh, every moan, every call of his name and the beating of their hearts drowned out everything else, all the world, all the horror and there was only the two of them and their song of the night. 

 

"Always, I love you," he met his lips again, "mon coeur."   
  
"Please," Courfeyrac whispered breathlessly in between moans and increasingly desperate cries.    
"O-oh God please more! Oh my Ferr’! Oh, mon coeur! Mon amour! More!" He thrust up into his hand and let his head return to the grass as he arched and tilted his head back to offer up his neck, usually hidden away by collar and cravat, bared expectantly.   
  
Combeferre loved the sight of Courfeyrac's bare neck, stripped of his shirt and cravat, so rare in public. He loved how as soon as they were alone and the barriers came down, his bare neck was a sight for Combeferre and Combeferre alone. He grazed his teeth over the soft flesh and tasted the salt of his skin as he happily obliged his cries for more. He bit down, regardless of the mark that would be left behind and rolled his hips into him, harder, faster, his name on his lips as he did so.   
  
Courfeyrac's whispers lost out to wordless moans as he grew closer, and he bucked his hips in time with Combeferre's thrusts until everything was too much and he felt the wave of his completion crash over him and he came with a cry against Combeferre's hand.

  
Courfeyrac looked so beautiful, nearly wild as he moaned and writhed beneath Combeferre as he came undone. He worked him into completion just as his own release began to wash over him, pushed over the edge by the sight and sounds of his love riding the waves of his.    
Combeferre rolled his hips until he was spent and he pressed their foreheads together with a breathless laugh.   
  
Courfeyrac smiled broadly at the sound of his laugh as he collapsed against the grass beneath him.    
"That was amazing." He grinned.    
"Of all of the places I've had or been had I've never made love in a field of wildflowers to a God before." He giggled breathlessly.   
  
Combeferre laughed softly and rolled his eyes, his cheeks heating beneath his blush as he settled into the grass next to Courfeyrac. "And here I thought your tongue could not be any looser," he nuzzled into him playfully. "I am no God, but a temple where your Godliness is worshipped, mon cher."   
That earned Combeferre a snort and a scoff from Courfeyrac, who promptly rolled on top of him to kiss him thoroughly.    
"My ridiculous heart."   
Courfeyrac kissed him again, this time tenderly, barely a lingering touch and drew back to meet his eyes in the half dark.   
  


Combeferre laughed, truly laughed, and it nearly sounded foreign to his own ears.

"You'd have it no other way."   
He gazed up at him with soft eyes and carded his fingers through Courfeyrac's hair and then let his hand settle on the back of his neck. 

"Do you know how I love you?"   
  
  
"Very well indeed. You have entirely overwhelmed the competition and there have been no others who have even come close to your love my dear Combeferre."   
Courfeyrac grinned cheekily and kissed him with lazy enthusiasm.   
  
  
Combeferre kissed him with the same languid vigor. He never wanted to leave that field, that moment. Here in the meadow, there was peace and wholeness and they were together, but even in Eguisheim, the real world was less kind. 

"Excellent, now I've only to maintain my title of lover supreme." He kissed the tip of Courfeyrac's nose and returned his cheeky grin.   
  
  
Courfeyrac smiled adoringly and kissed him again. He shivered, this time only from the cold, naked and slicked in sweat as he was. He let out a tired grumble of protest and started to get dressed with melodramatic sighs.   
Combeferre watched Courfeyrac dress and sigh and fuss with utmost fondness before he joined him in dressing. Combeferre pressed a kiss to his dark curls and stood on legs that were still a bit shaky and offered Courfeyrac his hand.   
The sky had darkened around them and the stars twinkled in the inky expanse above.   
  
"Must we return to the real world my kind doctor with windspun golden hair?" Courfeyrac stood shakily and avoided his leg as pain shot through it, he really should have brought his cane.    
"Though I must admit a bath sounds lovely."   
  
  
"I'm afraid so, mon cher," Combeferre frowned at Courfeyrac's wince of pain and offered his arm, allowing himself to be used as a cane seeing as how Courfeyrac seemed hell bent on  _ never _ using his own.   
"Come, let's get you back. It is my professional opinion that you require a warm bath and a massage." He winked through the darkness but he was only half joking.   
  
  
"Ooh, mon amour. Only a fool argues with his doctor." At that Courfeyrac perfectly managed a limp with a spring in his step.   
  
  
"I'm sure that I'll be reminding you that you said that, mon cher," Combeferre smiled fondly and led them back to the house, her pale lights shimmering in the distance.   
  
The remainder of the walk was spent in silence as the cold seeped into Courfeyrac’s still healing wounds. They were both lost in thought, focused solely on the promise of warmth that grew nearer with every step.   
  
  
Walking inside of his childhood home was always met with a different arrangement of noises and sights and yet, it was always familiar. There was always the familiar rush of warm air accompanied by the scent of lavender, the soft sounds of Emilie practicing at the piano forte and the small, bustling staff of the estate with their whispered orders and greetings.   
He dipped his head to the head maid, a woman he had grown up pestering and being pestered by and asked for two baths to be drawn.   
  
  
While Combeferre ordered the baths, Courfeyrac eased himself into a chair with a soft hiss and checked his cravat as he listened to Emilie. It was strange being surrounded by staff again, like being home, except that this family was so different. They dressed and spoke humbly and were so kind to their staff where his mother tended to pretend that they didn't exist.   
  
  
It was hardly a moment later that Combeferre sat opposite Courfeyrac and leaned his head back, and let his eyes fall closed as he listened to the soft sounds of Emilie playing. A soft hiss drew his attention and Combeferre opened one eye to glance at Courfeyrac and, upon finding that it hadn't come from him, raised his head to find his father all but hiding in the hall with only his head poked around the corner.   
"Pssst! Henri!"   
"Papa, what on earth?" Combeferre quirked a brow with a slight frown.   
"Have you seen your mother?"   
Combeferre shook his head and his father breathed a sigh of relief. "Good! Now, my dearest child, you must do something for me."   
Combeferre’s already raised brow nearly disappeared into his hair.   
"Madame Eleanor has made lemon cakes and they are cooling in the kitchen, go fetch one for me and then come to my study; it's of dire import!"   
"Why must I be the one to get one for you when I could prevent you from being able to get it yourself? Maman won't have my head so that you can stuff yourself with sugar, which you  _ ought _ to eat less of, I might add."   
The elder Combeferre frowned. 

"Last thing we needed was a damned doctor in the family. Thanks to you and your mother I'm living a life filled with oats.  _ Oats _ , Henri! I may as well be a horse. Now go get a lemon cake for your dear, poor, suffering father lest I go strap on a feed sack and peruse the fields. Madame Eleanor has a softness for you, you may be successful in your acquisition."   
Combeferre shook his head and tried very hard not to smile.   
"Very well then. Monsieur de Courfeyrac! Won't you do an old man a grand favor?"   
  
Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Papa-"   
  
"Oh! Very well then." The elder Combeferre sighed and pinched the bridge of his own nose. 

"Well at least step into my study, won't you? Monsieur Courfeyrac, I daresay this involves you as well."   
  
  
Courfeyrac was beaming adoringly at them both, completely charmed by the way Monsieur Combeferre and his own Combeferre moved and spoke the same as one another.    
"Hm? Ooh, how exciting!" Courfeyrac chimed despite the nerves he felt at the thought of being alone with Combeferre and his father.    
He eased himself up with a hiss and took a moment to steady himself and his leg before looking rather proud of himself and standing as tall as he could in the house of giants.   
  
  
"Exciting is putting it mildly, dear boy," Monsieur de Combeferre ducked back behind the corner as Combeferre and Courfeyrac followed behind him. 

"I can't say I've ever been in this position before."   
He closed the door behind his son and his companion and sat behind a desk that was well loved, but had seen better days. He gestured for them to sit and didn't speak again until they had.   
"Now," his father took a deep breath and Combeferre knew that whatever news was coming their way was heavy indeed, 

"I've received a letter from someone who calls himself a dear friend of yours, informing me of your untimely demise. Now, seeing as you are here in front of me and very much alive, Henri, it appears you've a dear friend out there that mourns you most fiercely."   
Monsieur de Combeferre handed over the letter. "You must write at once and put end to this young man's torment. Monsieur Courfeyrac, you may want to write your parents if you have not already, and pen your own letter to this Monsieur Enjolras."


	7. Chapter 7

Courfeyrac's heart began to race as Monsieur Combeferre spoke and as soon as he said Enjolras' name tears sprang to his eyes.    
"He's alive."   
  


Combeferre's heart had been in his throat the entire time his father had been speaking but he did not dare let himself hope. No, it couldn't be he told himself over and over until the words became meaningless and finally the letter was in front of him. The handwriting, tearstained as it was, belonged to Enjolras, Combeferre knew it as well as he knew his own, and at the sight of it his heart soared at the same time that tears stung his eyes.

"Enjolras," he whispered. "Enjolras!" He all but snatched the letter from his father and held it so that he and Courfeyrac could both see. "He lives!"

  
[ Dear Monsieur Combeferre,   
It is my deepest regret to inform you that your son and my most beloved friend has passed away.    
Henri Combeferre was the kindest and the bravest of men. It was my honor and dearest privilege to have been able to call a man of such esteem my friend. Know that he died doing what he loved and believed in - fighting to give a voice to those who could not speak, to feed those who starved, to shelter those who shiver on the streets, and  protect those brave men who fought at his side.    
  
The world has lost a great warmth and light and he will be sorely missed.    
Sincerely,   
Charles Jeanne Enjolras]   
  
Combeferre's face was streaked  with tears but he didn’t care. All the pain and suffering he and Courfeyrac had endured with the aid of each other Enjolras had endured alone. "We must go to him," Combeferre said suddenly, though it went without saying that they would. "We must write him at once and go to his side."   
  
"Agreed, a-and I must write my parents in case they have been informed of my death as well." Courfeyrac's voice cracked as he spoke.    
"Poor Maman." He pulled the handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed his streaming eyes.    
"I-I can hardly believe it. Thank you for sharing this with us M-monsieur."   
  
Monsieur Combeferre nodded, his own eyes shining a bit. 

"I can't say that I've ever been more pleased to receive false news. My thoughts and sympathies are with your dear friend. Should he find himself in need of refuge, I pray that you would see him brought here."   
He was more than happy to share with them his stationery and ink and with a squeeze to each of the younger men's shoulders, he excused himself. 

"I shall leave you to it," he said gently.

"If either of you should require anything, I shall be battling the cook." 

With that, he closed the door behind himself and left them.   
  
Combeferre wanted to write Enjolras immediately but his hands were trembling too much. He was a mess of excited energy and tears, tears born of both happiness and sorrow and, strangely, Combeferre couldn't stop himself from laughing. Enjolras was alive!   
In the end, he managed a few simple lines, his shaking hands be damned.   
  
[Enjolras,   
Worry not, dear friend, Courfeyrac and I live and we are coming to you. Words cannot convey my joy at learning that you yet live.   
  
Always,   
H. Combeferre   
P.S. I hope you are remembering to sleep and eat.]   
  
Courfeyrac took the page and wrote his own note on it.    
[I can think of no more welcome news than that you are alive my dear friend. We will be with you soon. Keep heart, we will be reunited soon.]   
  
He hugged Combeferre for a long time as he cried and nuzzled into his shoulder.

 

"He's alive." Combeferre held Courfeyrac while he cried and ran a soothing hand up and down his back as he shed his own tears.

"He's alive," he repeated, and he smiled as he cradled Courfeyrac's head in his hands and kissed him. "He's alive and we will be reunited soon." 

He pressed another kiss to Courfeyrac's forehead and rested his cheek atop his curls.   
  


"It shall be dangerous for us to return will it not? Perhaps we should erm change our appearance or the like?"   
  


"It is more dangerous for him to remain there alone, though I doubt he could be pried away. What have you in mind, mon cher? I suppose I could forgo my glasses, cut my hair. We shall dress you as if you came from Eguisheim and none would recognize you."   
  


Courfeyrac looked pained at the thought of Combeferre cutting his hair but he valued his safety more than his hair as gorgeous as it was.    
"Well..." Courfeyrac steeled himself to suffer for Enjolras. Eguisheim was terrifyingly behind on fashion which was quaint on the locals but the thought of wearing it was terrible.    
"Nothing like new clothes no?"   
  
Combeferre couldn't fight his smile. Even _he_  knew that Eguisheim’s fashion was behind the times and he actually felt a pang of sympathy for poor Courfeyrac. He did not trust himself to speak without laughing and so he simply nodded.   
  
Courfeyrac let out a long and drawn out sigh and smooshed his face against Combeferre's shoulder.    
"Must I lose your beautiful hair and my dignity at once?"   
  
"Well, mon coeur, the alternative would be to lose your hair and I'm not sure I could survive it." Combeferre laughed softly and held Courfeyrac against him. 

"Hair grows back and clothing can be changed, mon cher. We shall get through this, just as we have everything else...but do not forsake your cravats; the sight of your neck is mine."   
  
Courfeyrac shivered delightedly at the possessiveness in Combeferre's words.    
"I-I would not dream of it, besides my cravat is my self expression." He smiled brightly.    
"And I take great pride in the tying. I will use a different knot and it will disguise as well as a mask you will see."   
  
"I'm sure that I will," Combeferre smiled gently, pleased to see the light return to his eyes and smile.    
He pressed a kiss to Courfeyrac's curls and bent to seal their letter to Enjolras. 

"Come, come," he said when he was done, "we have each a bath waiting and heaven willing, they have yet to go cold."   
  
Courfeyrac whined softly and brushed his lips against Combeferre's ear.   
"I miss the days we could share." He whispered with a sneaky hand down the front of his trousers. He felt brought to life by the combination of finally being had by Combeferre after so long apart and the joyous news that Enjolras yet lived.

  
"Those days will come again soon," Combeferre whispered in return as he fought a shiver at Courfeyrac's touch. If he had thought their lives restricted in Paris, it was nothing compared to this and he so longed for the freedom they had shared.   
"You absolute devil," Combeferre groaned, finding himself frustrated in more ways than one. 

"I shall be in need of a cold bath now."   
  
Courfeyrac smiled sweetly up at him from beneath dark lashes.   
"You see, I was only helping."   
  


"Oh yes, mon cher, you are _so_  helpful," Combeferre couldn't have managed a scowl at Courfeyrac if he tried. He shook his head and smiled fondly and pressed a kiss to his little demon's forehead. 

"Come, mon amour, you're still under doctor's orders for a bath and a massage."   
  


Courfeyrac perked up at that.   
"Oh, yes of course! Mustn't ignore doctor's orders!" he winked and made his way out of the office in the most awkward way he could while purposely rutting up behind Combeferre and kissing the back of his neck on the way. 

Combeferre giggled, he was slightly ticklish at the back of his neck not that he would ever let anyone know. He opened the door for them and gestured for Courfeyrac to go ahead as the menace couldn't be trust behind him.

"On you go, minx," he looked pointedly to the hall.    
  
There was a commotion down the hall which turned out to be his mother berating Monsieur Combeferre for the now empty tray of lemon cakes that sat with him by the fire. Monsieur Combeferre wore a lazy, sated smile despite his wife's fussing. "Ma cherie, I have been on this earth for forty-eight years but I have not lived until this day. I am at peace."   
  
Courfeyrac sniggered and smiled fondly at them as he passed. He did love it here, in spite of the lack of freedom it meant for making love. He sighed happily, overwhelmed with the thought of Enjolras being alive, though by the time he eased into the lukewarm bath he was frowning again, feeling guilty for all the time their friend had spent alone.

Courfeyrac was out of his bath fairly quickly; he hated being in cold water especially alone. He dried and dressed for dinner quickly, but all he really wanted was to climb into bed with Combeferre and leave at dawn.   
  
Combeferre sincerely hoped that Courfeyrac was enjoying the large, spacious tub in his room because Combeferre was pretty good and well cramped in the small tub in the guest chamber.    
Unfortunately the bath was the least of his troubles. He could not get the image of Enjolras, alone and wounded and thinking that all those he loved had died, out of his mind. His heart ached and he wanted nothing more than to hop out of the bath and arrange for a carriage to Paris.

He sighed and tried to clear the thought away and focused on washing himself in near mechanical movements as he  forced himself to go through the motions and stay occupied. The water had long since gone cold by the time Combeferre climbed out and dried off.   
  
Dinner was going to be a miserable affair, not because his family was unpleasant, just the opposite they were wonderful, but all Combeferre wanted to do was leave. They had each other, they were safe in their fortress of flowers, but there was another part of Combeferre's family far away and he was all alone.   
He dressed quickly and sought out Courfeyrac.   
  
Courfeyrac met Combeferre's eyes as soon as they were together and neither of them had to say anything. They were both thinking the same thing.   
He put his hand on Combeferre's arm and walked with him.    
"Can we leave at dawn?"   
  
"Not a moment later," Combeferre promised and he placed his hand over Courfeyrac's. He smiled, it had always been this way between he and Courfeyrac, so natural and easy. Whatever the other was thinking, they just knew. His heart hammered in his chest at the idea of returning to Paris, not out of fear, but at the prospect of returning to Enjolras's side.

"I doubt I shall find a wink of sleep tonight," he mused.   
  
"Me as well." Courfeyrac smiled sadly up at Combeferre.   
"I'm not even in a mood to keep you company." He knew Combeferre would understand what he meant.   
"I am so worried."   
  
"I am, as well," Combeferre returned his sad, worried smile and gave his hand a squeeze. "In truth I wish we could leave now. The sooner we are by his side the better."   
  
Courfeyrac seemed to be fighting more tears as he glanced toward the dining room.   
"I-I suppose one more night cannot hurt."   
  
Combeferre pulled Courfeyrac into the parlour.

"We've still a few moments before dinner is served; won't you sit with me?" Combeferre sat on the sofa, made comfortable by years of entertaining, and pulled Courfeyrac gently down with him.    
"I'm not ready to face them yet," Combeferre admitted quietly.

He had intended to ease Courfeyrac's worry, to make him smile but his own worry was too great and to see his family laugh and chatter around the dinner table was too much, it was like staring into the sun.   
  
Courfeyrac curled up with his head on Combeferre's shoulder and a heavy sigh.   
"I think I need a cane." Combeferre leaned his head against Courfeyrac's. 

"A cane would take the pressure off your leg; it would keep you from straining it so often. Half the time I'm tempted just to carry you everywhere, you worry me so. Dear god. I'm my own mother."   
Courfeyrac let out a weak laugh.   
  


"Well that's hardly a problem, she's as lovely as Spring your mother. Enjolras would have her painted as Patria, just you wait. That is, if we can drag him from Paris."   
  
"No wonder she's taken so quickly to you. Do you think he would ever forgive us if we drugged him and slipped away with him? I worry he won't be removed otherwise."   
  
"Perhaps if he is unfit to make such a decision himself it is best left to his doctor to decide what is best for him."   
  
"Excellent point, as always, dear Courfeyrac." That time Combeferre's smile came a little easier and it reached his eyes. 

"Come, let us try to eat so that we may try to sleep so that we have our wits about us when we go to our dear brother."   
  
Courfeyrac nodded and pinched Combeferre's cheek in place of a kiss.   
"I will miss your cook dearly."   
  
"As will I," Combeferre sighed just a little. "And I'm certainly not looking forward to telling Emilie of our departure. The day I left for Paris she wrapped herself around my legs and had to be pried away and I'll have you know, I cried a good half the journey after that." 

He shook his head, stood and offered his arm to Courfeyrac.   
  
"She will cry again when we tell her that we intend to return with an even more beautiful blonde than her." Courfeycrac teased with a grin, hoping to cheer Combeferre up.

  
"Good lord, those two under the same roof, can you imagine? She'll have flowers braided in his hair and he'll have her wide eyed and upsetting the establishment in no time."

It seemed fiery blondes were to be a constant in Combeferre's life.

 

"They would look like gorgeous siblings, twins from a fairy tale." Courfeyrac sighed wistfully.

  
Dinner that night was far from formal. Emilie was already snacking at the table and Madame Combeferre was glaring daggers at her husband who looked nearly comatose at the head of the table, obviously having partaken in too many pastries. Courfeyrac did his best to remember every little detail from what everyone was wearing, to what food was served and what the room smelled like. He tried to capture and exact image of Combeferre's family like this, together and happy, in case the worst should happen and they were never to return to their sunflower paradise.   
  
Madame Combeferre seemed to be grateful to have something to focus on besides her glutton of a husband and chattered happily. Emilie, ever observant, seemed to sense Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s need for peace and so she distracted their mother for the duration of the meal. Combeferre would owe her for that one, he was sure.    
  
"I know you are leaving," she told him after dinner as she wrapped her arms around him.

"And I know I will see you again; I pray you find your friend."   
  
It hadn't dawned on Combeferre until then that his little sister had grown up and she was no longer the little girl that had clung to his legs and begged him to stay, but a fiercely compassionate young woman. He hugged her in return. "Whatever happens, you know that I will write?"   
  


Emilie nodded and turned then to Courfeyrac and handed him a bundle of letters, expertly tied together with a purple ribbon.

"Something to read if my brother bores you on the journey." She winked and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and swept off to her room, not one to shed a tear in public despite her usual outwardness.   
  
By the time goodbyes were said and they ascended the stairs, Combeferre felt exhausted mentally and physically. Courfeyrac hugged the letters close to him and openly wept, never one for hiding his emotions, at least, not when there was any grief to be felt and he felt so much. He hoped they'd be back soon, but more than that, he hoped to find Enjolras in one piece.   
He set the letters down lovingly beside Combeferre's bed.   
  


"Can you stay with me?"   
  


"You ask as if I could be pried away," Combeferre pressed a kiss to his forehead and slipped out of his shoes and let himself fall back on the bed. He trailed his fingers absently along his still healing scar and stared at the ceiling with heavy eyes.   
  
Courfeyrac leaned down to kiss him gently, then stripped from his jacket, waistcoat and cravat and settled down on the bed beside him with a yawn.   
He wrapped his arms around him and pulled the blanket up over them.   
"We'll be on our way soon, mon amour. Get some rest."   
  
"I don't remember the last time _I_  was advised to rest and not the other way around," Combeferre laughed softly and rolled onto his side to wrap an arm about his love. He breathed him in and felt warmer and calmer than he had all evening.

"Sleep well, mon amour ," he sighed, "and if you cannot, I am right here." 

Courfeyrac nestled against him, his curls tucked up beneath his chin as he rested his head against his chest.

  
"Today has been a day of hope, and life." He mused with a sleepy smile.   
"And we'll be with our brother soon."   
  
"Just as we should be," Combeferre smiled sleepily and pressed a kiss to the dark curls that tickled his chin. He dozed off before he had another thought, his exhaustion catching up to him as he was lulled by his love's warmth beside him.   
When he dreamed, it was of seeing Enjolras again.   
  


\---

  
Cannon fire rang through the air and kept knocking Courfeyrac from his feet. He was holding Combeferre in his arms. Nothing had changed. The sunflowers, the family, the hope, it had all been a dream that he couldn't even remember now. Now he and Combeferre stepped from their carriage, excited to be reunited with Enjolras but everything was as they left it, the bodies of their friends all in a row including Enjolras and now Combeferre. Courfeyrac screamed and sat up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. 

 

Combeferre started awake at Courfeyrac's sudden movement. Even without being fully awake his natural response was to take Courfeyrac into his arms. He held him close and brushed the sweat slicked curls away from his face. 

"It was only a dream," he told him softly, "only a dream." 

The sky was growing light outside the window and the sun would be up soon.    
Combeferre held him for another moment and kissed his forehead. "Let's go. It's light enough out."   
  
Courfeyrac wrapped his arms tightly around Combeferre, he was hyperventilating and trembling violently.    
"No!" He clutched the back of Combeferre's shirt as he gasped for breath.     
"Combeferre! Combeferre!" He buried his face against his shoulder as he started to feel dizzy.   
  
Combeferre held him tighter as the tremors wracked Courfeyrac's body and rubbed his hand along his back. 

"Breathe with me," he took deep breaths with Courfeyrac to help ease his panic and never once relinquished his hold on him. 

"Tell me," he bid him softly, "what is it, mon cher?"

He rested his cheek on Courfeyrac's curls.   
  
"I-I'm terrified." He whimpered and held him tight.    
"Th-they're still there b-but they're dead they're all d-dead and it was almost you."   
He shook his head and clutched him tighter, struggling to slow his breathing.   
  
Combeferre smoothed down his curls and rubbed a hand up and down his back, letting him get it all out.

"I am too. I am terrified; I do not want to see that place again, either," he admitted.

"It was almost you, too. It was almost you and my heart is still gripped with grief and fear and I do not want to go, but we have to. For Enjolras, we have to."   
He pressed a kiss to Courfeyrac's forehead and promptly pulled him back into his arms. 

"I will not leave your side, not once, not ever again. I'll be right there with you."   
  
Courfeyrac calmed down enough to start crying and he felt better for it. He could release his fear and his pain in the tears and melt into Combeferre like this.    
He sniffed.    
"We have to."   
  
Combeferre held him while he cried himself out and brushed the drying tears away when he was spent.    
"We shall find him and pry him away, my love. Paris will hardly realize we were there before we have left her."   
  
"I feel awful. As if I have disowned my own mother. Will he ever forgive me? Or us for taking him away from her heart?"   
  
"I imagine it will take time," Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, not overly pleased with the prospect of prying Enjolras from Paris. 

"But right now Paris is a wound, angry and festering. She, like all things else, must be allowed to heal."   
  
Courfeyrac smiled weakly at that and sat up to kiss Combeferre tenderly.    
"You were always better at wording things mon coeur."   
His breathing evened out and he brushed Combeferre's hair from his forehead.    
"I love you so much. It was a perfectly horrible nightmare. Wretched. I-I'd lost you."   
  
"But now you are awake and I am here," Combeferre kissed him softly and stroked his fingers along Courfeyrac's cheek. 

"I love you, and I shall never leave your side again and if I stray in dreams I pray you wake and see that I am there."   
  
"You have yet to fail me mon amour. "   
Courfeyrac kissed him tenderly.    
"I suppose it's time for you to dress me as a bumpkin.   
  
Combeferre couldn't help but look delighted at the prospect, only because Courfeyrac seemed to genuinely displeased with it. 

"If it helps, mon cher, never shall a bumpkin have been more beautiful."   
He set about choosing clothes for Courfeyrac to wear.   
  


Courfeyrac gazed mournfully out the window over the thin strip of sunlight behind the sunflowers, mostly upset about having to dress completely out of fashion for Paris.   
  
Shirts were looser in Eguisheim and trousers usually worn cuffed closely to the leg. Waistcoats were generally worn without an overcoat as it was still summer and the heat of the country was thick. Combeferre could not help but to smile as he deposited Courfeyrac's new garb in his lap, especially with how his love gazed ever so forlornly through the window.   
  
Courfeyrac stared listlessly at the clothes before a look of horror passed over his face.    
"Is this a straw hat?! Mon amour you cannot be serious!  I feel faint..."   
  
Combeferre removed the straw hat from the pile with a cheeky grin. 

"Caught me, that was a joke." 

He had had all the intentions of making Courfeyrac wear the hat to Paris but the poor dear's face had gone nearly white.   
  
"You cheek!" Courfeyrac pinched the bridge of his nose just as Combeferre always did as he composed himself and dressed in the over sized bumpkin clothes as if for his own funeral.   
  
"You love me still," Combeferre lie back on the bed, propped on his elbows as he watched Courfeyrac dress with unbridled amusement. 

The little minx would never admit it or care to hear it but he really did look stunning in his country garb.    
  
"I love you for all time - fortunately for you!"   
He huffed.    
"It is just as well you will not be able to see me without your glasses or you will have to suffer me in rags. There goes my plan to attempt to make love in a bouncing carriage. I doubt Monsieur Chauve à col roulé is in the mood after this ordeal."   
  
Combeferre was laughing too hard to point out that he was near-sighted and not completely blind and would still be able to see more of Courfeyrac than Courfeyrac would have probably liked at the moment. "Mon cher, I would have never imagined you so easily deterred!" He managed in between chuckles and tsked. "Monsieur Chauve à col roulé giving up at the sight of a straw hat?"   
  
"You would be surprised mon amour. I once saw Jehan wearing an orange waistcoat with a purple cravat and he would not behave for a week." He managed to fight his laughter but there was a smile in his voice.   
  
Combeferre smiled fondly and eyed him with soft eyes. 

"I can believe it," he chuckled and shook his head. 

He stood and kissed Courfeyrac tenderly. 

"I'll have breakfast prepared and the carriage readied."   
  
Courfeyrac pulled him back for a kiss that suggested Monsieur Chauve à col roulé was perfectly well.    
"Alright mon amour. I want to walk in the garden."   
  
What remained of Combeferre's senses after that kiss pooled into worry for Courfeyrac walking unattended. 

"Will you be alright?" If he stammered, well, Courfeyrac was to blame for that.   
  


Courfeyrac hmmmed then sighed dramatically.    
"Perhaps there is a cane I might use?"   
  
"I'm sure there is somewhere around here." Combeferre pressed a kiss to his forehead and left to find one. It only took a moment, much to his surprise, as he found an old cane of his uncle's tucked away in the broom closet. He was Combeferre's mother's brother and a small man by nature, and the cane should prove to be a fine suit for Courfeyrac. He returned a moment later and presented it.   
  
Courfeyrac looked at it sadly. He used to be very fond of canes for fashion but using one out of necessity just reminded him of all that had happened. 

"Merci, mon coeur.".    
He stood and tested it and it helped far more than he expected.    
"I will meet you back inside soon?"   
  
Combeferre saw that it seemed to help and spared Courfeyrac any further insult to pride or memory by refraining from asking if it did.   
He nodded and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Around an hour?"   
  
Courfeyrac nodded with a smile and leaned into the kiss.    
"In about an hour mon amour."   
  
He made his way to the garden easily enough with the cane. He'd worn his proper coat while he still could and walked among the sunflowers, joining in the mist that swirled around their feet. Alone in the mist he felt like a ghost separated entirety from the world of the living and more at home in the flowers and the dark. He'd miss seeing this place in the sun, especially sparkling in Combeferre's eyes and on his hair.   
  
Combeferre ventured to the stables to see that a carriage and horses were readied. The stable master nodded and explained that Monsieur de Combeferre had been by the night before to set the preparations for their departure and Combeferre could not help but to smile. Of course he had.   
It was barely dawn and the house was only just coming alive when Combeferre ducked into the kitchen to find Madame Eleanor and request an early meal for he and Courfeyrac as they would likely be departing before the rest of the Combeferres woke (out of the family it seemed only he and Madame Combeferre were early risers). Madame Eleanor, as she had always had a fondness for Combeferre, began to prepare his favorite meal right away.   
  
Emilie had yet to rise as she had yet to go to bed. She knew that if she slept she would have missed Henri's departure and her heart just could not bear it. She had been walking the flower fields most of the night, her dress and what showed of her hair from beneath her silly straw hat were beaded with mist but she did not seem to notice.   
She did notice that she was no longer alone and watched Monsieur Courfeyrac for a moment before she approached him. She watched him as he was when he thought no one could see him. He was sadder, when no one was watching, more pensive. 

She walked up to him with a tired, but genuine smile. "Good morning, monsieur."   
  
Courfeyrac flinched at the noise then clutched his cane and his chest as he caught his breath.   
"My dear Aphrodite you startled me!" He suddenly had his smile on again, though he felt a pang of sadness at the thought that now he would have to wave goodbye to the girl who had become as dear as a sister to him.   
"Good morning. My dear girl you must be so cold out here!"   
  


"Forgive me, monsieur, I only meant to startle you a little," she teased and pulled her own coat tighter around her. 

"I hardly know which I enjoy more: the heat of the day or the chill of morning."   
She brushed a stray curl from her eyes and tucked it into her hat.

"You wear your smiles like armor, monsieur, but you needn't arm yourself here. You are amongst family, do you not know?"   
  
Courfeyrac's smile faded and he looked away, his eyes glossing over with unshed tears and he swallowed back a lump in his throat.   
"If I do not wear it there is hardly anything of me left."   
  
"There is more of you than you know," Emilie wrapped her arms around him, though he may never be her brother by law he was her brother by heart and she loved him fiercely. 

"Even if you cannot see it, or feel it, you shall have to trust those of us that do, beau-frère."   
  
Courfeyrac teared up at the sweetness of her words, and touched by the word brother. He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could with one arm and nuzzled into her shoulder.   
"Thank you, ma petite soeur." He whispered.   
  
Emilie leaned into his arms for a long moment.

"I won't tell you goodbye," she said finally in a whisper, "because I will see you again."   
Emilie plucked the hat from her head and let her wild curls spill around her face as she placed the silly hat on her dear brother's head and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"However little, or however much of you, you're still damnably dashing." 

She gave him a squeeze and a smile and disappeared into the mist and flowers, never one to shed a tear in company.   
  
Courfeyrac was reduced to touched tears and he stood in the garden for a long time, smiling after her and wiping his tears on his handkerchief and as he wore that stupid hat and it felt like a crown.   
  


\---   
  
It was probably odd that Combeferre found himself seated on the floor outside of his parents room, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He sat with his back against the door and listened to the sounds of their soft snoring coming from within their room and a lump built in his throat as he knew he had to leave them yet again.    
  


Emilie joined Combeferre on the floor and propped her head on her brother's shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a long moment as they merely enjoyed each others company.   
"I shall miss you, Henri."   
"I know."   
"And?"   
"And what?"   
Emilie punched him in the arm, hard, with a closed fist. "You shall miss me as well."   
"Incessantly," he chuckled and rubbed his arm and smiled fondly at his little sister.

“Ardently.”   
Emilie sniffed, indignant. "Well then, you don't have to make a scene. We'll see each other again."   
"How silly of me." He stood and helped her to her feet.   
"I detest goodbyes, you know," Emilie told him as if he did not know when he very much did.   
"I know," Combeferre brushed her wild curls back and tugged one playfully.

"How about 'goodnight'?"   
Emilie smiled a tight smile, her eyes shining with tears. "I can do that. I can do 'good night'."   
"Well then, goodnight."   
"Goodnight, Henri."   
  
Combeferre watched her retreat down the hall and turned away himself. No sooner than he did he heard the rapid steps of her little feet and felt her small arms wrap around his middle as Emilie crashed into him. "Come back, alright? You've got to come back."   
  
"I promise," he cleared his throat, chest tight and a lump in his throat. "I shall always come back."   
  
Emilie seemed appeased and only squeezed him for a moment more before she released him and retreated to her room and his heart broke because he knew she was crying but he knew better than to follow after her.   
Instead, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other and go to the dining hall. It had nearly been an hour, afterall.   
  


It was with reluctance that Courfeyrac took off the little straw hat when he walked inside, but he tucked it under his arm lovingly as he limped to the dining hall. He would certainly miss this place. He was already trying to formulate plans to pry Enjolras out of Paris and back here. Unfortunately quite a few still involved drugging him.   
  
Combeferre met Courfeyrac in the dining hall and pulled out the chair for him, a friend assisting his injured companion to anyone that may have seen though people were hardly fooled.   
He sat next to him rather than across. It was nothing new, even in Paris where they had their own freedoms and privacies they still sat beside one another.    
He eyed the small straw hat with mild amusement but said nothing as breakfast was served, breakfast here consisting of stacks of bacon and blueberry muffins.   
Just because his father had to limit his sugar and fat intake did not mean that Combeferre had to just yet.   
  
Courfeyrac perked up at the indulgent breakfast and very quickly had eaten so much that he groaned and rubbed his belly.    
"Oh God...this is it. This is the end and it is in the grubby embrace of bacon fat!"   
  


"I missed the sweet torment of bacon while in Paris," Combeferre admitted with a chuckle.

He may have eaten too much himself but seeing as how he didn't know when Madame Eleanor would cook for him next, it was excusable.    
"Are you nearly ready, mon amo-mon ami?"   
  
Courfeyrac was still rubbing his aching belly but an amused smile came to his face at Combeferre's slip.    
"Very nearly mon ami, but I am afraid you may have to roll me to the carriage."   
  
"That can be arranged," Combeferre smiled at him over the rim of his coffee and then took another bite of muffin because they were so good and he was so weak. He washed it down with another sip of coffee and gave Madame Eleanor an appreciative smile when she came into the room. She smiled fondly when she took note of how miserable and full they were and began removing empty trays.   
  


"Madame, you are a national treasure!" Courfeyrac announced dramatically, quickly followed by a burp which was then quickly followed by looking entirely appalled at himself.   
  
Madame Eleanor chuckled and actually blushed a bit. "So they tell me, sweet boy!" 

She pinched his cheek as she passed and ruffled Combeferre's hair. 

"I will miss this one," she tsked as she did so, "you must come home again soon, yes?"   
She pressed a matronly kiss to both of their heads and swept back into the kitchens, a pleasant hum on her lips all the while.   
Combeferre smiled fondly after her and then turned to Courfeyrac, his smile growing even fonder. "Now, shall we get...rolling?"   
  
Courfeyrac gave him his best unimpressed look, but instantly snorted into a fit of laughter and then groaned about his stomach.   
"If we must, mon amour. Though yo-" He blushed.   
"Mon ami, though you may have to carry me."   
  
Combeferre melted into laughter alongside him and stood. 

"Finally," he grinned, "an excuse to have you in my arms."   
  
"You doctors are all the same, perverts and fiends." He giggled more and stood with a dramatic groan.   
  
"As a doctor, I can confirm you are absolutely correct. Luckily for you," Combeferre winked and lifted him, gently and careful not to jar his leg. 

If he held Courfeyrac a little too close to his person, well, that was no one's concern how he carried his patient.   
  
Courfeyrac made a show of groaning and whining and complaining about his leg and his shoulder and his arm and his little finger and his chest and his elbow and any other part he could think of.   
  


Combeferre listened to every exaggerated complaint with utmost interest, humming and aha-ing where appropriate. 

"Monsieur Courfeyrac, we must see that you are treated immediately," he tsked as he carried him out to the waiting carriage. 

"Luckily for you, I've the steadiest hands in France." He winked and gently loaded them into the carriage.   
  
Courfeyrac temporarily broke character to give him an enthusiastic grin, then he returned to being dramatically ill in between giggles.   
Though, he sobered as he got one last look at the house.   
"Should we not say goodbye to your parents?"   
  
"It is early still," Combeferre sobered as well and glanced back at his childhood home. "We said our small goodbyes at the dinner table last night and today...today, I would like to let them rest."   
Saying goodbye to them was hard and it seemed it only got harder every time he had to leave them. Perhaps he was selfish on some level, but the thought hurt Combeferre too much to wake them.   
  
Courfeyrac took his hand and kissed it tenderly.   
"We will return soon, my dearest." he whispered.   
"And then I can wear a proper cravat."   
  
Combeferre laughed softly at that and cast one last look at the house and climbed inside. No sooner than he had taken a seat beside Courfeyrac, Combeferre pulled him close to his side, free in the confines of the carriage to be close to him once more. 

He pressed a kiss against what showed of his neck from beneath his sloppily tied cravat and smiled against his skin.

"The sooner we get you in a proper cravat the better, mon cher, I shall perish trying to keep my hands off you."   
  
"Oh! Mon amour we can not have that!" He shivered under the kiss and slid his hand up Combeferre's thigh.   
"And I insist, for your own safety, that during our _long_  and perilous journey you do not."   
  
"Well," Combeferre ghosted his lips along Courfeyrac's neck as his fingers trailed along his leg, "If you insist."    
He brushed his lips against his ear and smiled.

"Lie back," he whispered.   
  
Courfeyrac blinked and blushed deeply, checking that the curtains in the carriage were drawn.   
"Here?" He grinned crookedly.   
"Ooh my wild amour." He lay back with a grin.   
  
Combeferre chuckled and crawled over him to kiss him greedily, and trailed his fingers along Courfeyrac's leg all the while.

"Yes, here," he whispered and nipped at his lip before he sat back with a cheeky grin and gently moved Courfeyrac's sore leg so that it was seated in his lap and began to work his fingers expertly into the tissue to soothe some of the ache and tension in the healing muscle.   
  
Courfeyrac's mouth fell open and he let out an annoyed squeak and let his head drop back against the seat, hugging the straw hat to his chest and glaring up at the ceiling of the carriage.   
"I am not speaking to you."   
  
"That is fair," Combeferre's shoulders shook with laughter but he maintained his steady hold on his leg and worked his fingers deep into the tissue. Courfeyrac may fancy himself hating Combeferre now but he would thank him later. 

"Though if we think back on the last few years of roaming hands and suggestive glances in public from your end my one act of revenge is hardly warrants silence."   
  
"If I was speaking to you I would say that that is hardly fair, as my every glance and touch was full of promise while you have disappointed me entirely. If I was speaking to you, but I am not."   
  
"Your every touch and glance, while promising, was meant to make me lose my tongue and you know it, ma cher, but, as it is, you are not speaking to me and so I have heard nothing."   
He smiled still and worked his fingers down to the calf.   
  
Courfeyrac just hmphed and crossed his arms, glaring up at the ceiling still with a blush across his face.   
He would not admit it, but it actually felt marvelous on his leg, but he was feeling horrifically dissatisfied and he was certain by now it would show embarrassingly in his trousers.   
  
Combeferre should have felt chided, he knew, but Courfeyrac was far too endearing when he was cross and his leg truly did need the attention. Combeferre finished with the wounded leg and massaged the other for good measure as it had likely been overworked on behalf of the other.    
He finished and crawled his way next to Courfeyrac on the plush seat of the carriage (Combeferre carriages were quite spacious, as it were) and gave him his best and most sorry eyes. "Can you ever be persuaded to forgive me, mon cher?" 

He trailed his fingers along his love's stomach.   
  
Courfeyrac managed a glare with a lot of concentration and willpower but it was incredibly difficult with Combeferre there looking at him like a sweet puppy.   
"I am not speaking to you."   
  
Combeferre could see that Courfeyrac was practically straining himself to maintain a glare and thus he practically strained himself to keep from grinning. "But mon cher, how I will miss your voice." 

He brushed his lips against Courfeyrac's ear and trailed them along his neck.   
  
A sound between a squeak and a whimper escaped Courfeyrac and he shivered as if his words were trying to burst from him.    
He whined and looked away trying and failing to look like he was not thoroughly enjoying it.   
  


\---

  
Courfeyrac  opened an eye to smile at Combeferre and took his hand and squeezed it.   
"I love you."   
  
Combeferre squeezed his hand in return and smiled fondly at him. "I love you," he sighed happily and wrapped his free arm around his love.

"Even if you are a straw hat wearing bumpkin."   
Courfeyrac whined and tugged him down into a petulant kiss.   
"I have only just started speaking to you again; don't ruin it, my love."   
  
Combeferre fought a smile and failed miserably though he did refrain from pointing out that Courfeyrac had never actually stopped talking to him. "Ah yes, the worst five minutes of my life. I have learned my lesson, mon cher."   
  
"I certainly hope so, it hurts me more than it hurts you, mon coeur."   
He sighed dramatically and kissed him again.   
"How much longer until we arrive?"   
  
Combeferre melted under his gentle kisses.    
He laughed softly and brushed some of Courfeyrac's wild curls from his face. "We have only just left, mon amour. It will be a while yet before we arrive." He nuzzled into him and yawned slightly. "We should arrive sometime tomorrow."   
  
Courfeyrac looked surprisingly pleased at that.   
"Good."   
He cuddled against him and wrapped his limbs around him as much as possible in the jostling carriage.   
"We shall have time to make love in a carriage." He mumbled, sleepy and content.   
"'I have always wanted to make love in a carriage."   
  
Combeferre pressed a kiss to his curls and laughed softly. "Well we certainly can not pass up this most opportune of chances to realize one of your dreams."   
He held him close and smiled fondly. "Get some sleep, mon cher. It is early yet and we've a long way to go."   
  
"Mmm...if I must...but wake me up in time, no?"   
He clutched tight to Combeferre as he let his eyes close. The movement of the carriage gave him more nightmares, but they were not as bad as the ones that had plagued him earlier, and they failed to wake him.   
  
Combeferre lie awake, staring at the ceiling of the carriage. Every now and again Courfeyrac would mumble and twitch as if his dreams were less than pleasant and Combeferre would press a kiss to his hair and rub his back to soothe him. Eventually he dozed off as well.   
  
Courfeyrac started awake though he quickly lost track of whatever he had been dreaming and was thankful for it.   
He nuzzled into Combeferre to see if he was awake, wondering how far there was to go.   
Combeferre hummed lightly when Courfeyrac moved and woke with a sigh. He smiled sleepily at his love and checked the window. Apparently they had slept late into the afternoon and the rolling hills of the countryside had long since disappeared.    
"We should be stopping for the night soon," he let the curtain fall back down and yawned.   
  
Courfeyrac hummed with thought as he sat up and stretched.    
"Do we still have time?" He asked with a cheeky grin, though he wasn't really in the mood. He never used to have that problem before that day.   
  
Combeferre rolled his eyes but gave him a small, knowing smile and sat up as well with a stretch and a groan. "What I would not give to stretch my legs."    
Too much travel usually succeeded in making Combeferre restless and weary and it only worsened as Paris grew nearer.   
  
"We will be able to soon."   
Courfeyrac leaned against him, half in his lap, and let his curly head rest on his shoulder.   
He looked younger, dressed like a bumpkin in his loose fitting shirt and open waistcoat, and at the moment he resembled one of Caravaggio’s paintings.   
  
Courfeyrac was, as always, correct as soon the carriage slowed to a halt in a small, nondescript village and accommodations were secured for each of them and the carriage driver.    
Combeferre all but hopped from the carriage at first chance, delighted to be on terra firma and he stretched his long legs with glee.   
  
Courfeyrac practically toppled from the carriage looking completely ruffled and whined as he rubbed his eyes and limped after Combeferre dramatically.   
  
Combeferre quickly offered Courfeyrac his arm to steady himself with a sheepish smile. "I am sorry, mon ami, I had not meant to drag you out of the carriage with me."   
  
Courfeyrac let out a sulky "HMPH" but batted his eyes adorably up at him and leaned against him with as much drama as before.   
  
"You are completely ridiculous," Combeferre's tone was so fond it could hardly even be considered as chiding.    
The small amount of luggage they had traveled with had been taken to their respective rooms which were next to each other on the second floor of the small inn. They never _used_ the second room except for to keep up appearances.   
  
\---

  
Courfeyrac was quiet for hours on the final leg of the journey to Paris. He sighed often and stared out the window with his hand tightly clasped around Combeferre's.   
  
Combeferre squeezed his hand and offered Courfeyrac a reassuring smile as the city began to appear around them. Combeferre had thought returning to Paris would feel more monumental, that it would feel like returning home after a long trip away, or perhaps it would feel haunted but when Combeferre stared out of the window into Paris and she stared back there was only emptiness. Paris had seen their loss and she had continued on the only way she knew how; she could not be blamed despite how he wanted to do just that.   
He pulled his hat down over his head to cover his hair and removed his glasses.   
  
Courfeyrac frowned, but did not point out that it was impolite to wear a hat inside, manners hardly mattered when your life was in danger. He opted not to wear his though, and pulled the curtain across instead.    
"I suppose we shall have to have sex on the journey back." He said, before he remembered Enjolras would be with them and let out a weak laugh.   
  
"Poor Enjolras will probably fling himself from the carriage," Combeferre managed a weak smile.   
He had to keep reminding himself that Enjolras was there waiting on them, scared and alone and that was what kept him moving forward, closer to Paris with every second. "We shall check in to the inn first and go straight to him, yes?"   
  
Courfeyrac shook his head, and that tired look that made him look so much older passed across his face.   
"Let us go to him."   
  
Combeferre nodded and squeezed his hand yet again. "So we shall. There is not much daylight left and I have not much hope that he has the good sense to be safe indoors. Do you...you do not think he would return to the Musain do you?"   
  
Courfeyrac turned white and swallowed at the thought of returning there.   
"I-I don't know....perhaps we should try his apartment first?"

 

\----

  
Enjolras stared at the blank page in front of him. The ink on his nib had already dried and he stared on. It was intended to be a letter to Jehan's parents, but he just could not bear it. He just could not handle any more sadness, or loss. There was nothing left of him. There were bags beneath his eyes in thick double layers, and an empty bottle sat next to him, keeping him and the other bottles company. A thin sheen of gold stubble covered his face and around his neck was Grantaire's cravat, lovingly washed but still stained with his blood. It was just too much.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide mention

  
"Let us hope that he is there," Combeferre nodded solemnly and prayed with every fibre of his being that Enjolras would be at his apartment - that they would not have to return to the Musain. His stomach churned at the thought of it.    
"We are nearly there."   
  
Courfeyrac nodded, his whole face looked pale and strained, his usually smiling face nearly unrecognizable.   
He clutched the straw hat in his hands, a deep frown between his brows.   
  
When they reached his apartment the windows were completely dark, but Courfeyrac banged on the door anyway.   
"Enjolras?"   
No answer. He tried again.   
"Enjolras?"   
  


Nothing.    
  


Something possessed Courfeyrac to try the door anyway and his stomach did an odd flip when it opened. The apartment was completely gutted. There was nothing there at all. No portrait of Patria on the wall, no bottles from Grantaire, no books, no papers, not even the three chairs that they had spent so many evenings chatting together happily in. There was only a small note written in Enjolras' hand in the very center of the room that read simply, "I am sorry."   
  
Combeferre blanched as he read the note. The paper trembled in his hands. 

"We have to go," Combeferre’s voice was sharp with fear. 

"We have to get to the Musain, if Enjolras seeks to end himself it will be where all of this began." 

He was already out of the door and down the hall, frantic as he feared that when they arrived they would not find their friend but what was left of him.   
  


\---   
  


It was so empty. No debris. No barricade. Not even a gamin playing in the street. There was just a hole where Enjolras’ whole world had been. The front of the Musain was still gone from when it had collapsed under the cannon fire, and it revealed a gaping wound that displayed the foundations of the building like cracked ribs.

  
Enjolras sat for a long time on the cobblestones that were still stained with blood. Nobody came here anymore, he'd even heard children whispering to one another that it was haunted.   
He made his way upstairs and sat at the empty table. He'd heard that Pontmercy had lived, the only one. The only one who hadn't died because of him, practically by his own hand.    
He brushed his fingers across the cravat around his neck. He'd given it to Grantaire once, the same night he promised to marry him when all of this was through. Now it was stained with blood, and it was all he had left of him.   
"I'm sorry..." His voice cracked as he shouted to the emptiness.   
"I'm so sorry..."   
He tried to swig what was left of his bottle of wine but he couldn't around the lump in his throat.    
There was a clatter as he set his pistol on the table and clutched his shorn hair tight in his hands and sobbed.

  
Enjolras wept until his head had a dull ache and he had run out of tears. He sat there numb until the sun filtering through what was left of the Musain had stretched into long lines along the floor - imitations in light of the bodies that had once lined it. It was so quiet. He felt like a ghost and it was the first pleasant feeling he could remember since that day.   
  


"You never believed in God." He said to the cravat that was now clutched in his hand.   
"I joked...I called you my heathen and my sinner, but you weren't...you weren't. Your heart was made of the purest gold. You were bitter because the world was too harsh for your heart and it hurt you so badly. I hope you're wrong. I hope you're in heaven now and it's so much softer. I hope that you're happy. I'm so sorry my love. If it ends like this, I will never be able to toy with those curls in heaven, but I am weak. I can no longer bear it. I cannot go on like this. I cannot bear this Hell on Earth without you in this life. Please forgive me."   
He kissed the cravat tenderly, then returned it to his neck and loaded his pistol.   
  


\---   
  
Combeferre paid attention to neither man or road as he ran, driven by sheer urgency. Courfeyrac ran after him. He gasped for breath and had to stop once and awhile when the pain was too great, but he managed to be only about twenty paces behind when they reached the Musain, too afraid, too panicked to get to Enjolras before it was too late - too afraid that it WAS too late to even care about the ghost of a building that groaned under the weight of their feet. 

 

The cobblestones outside the Musain, stained darker than before, did not register to Combeferre, nor did the gutted building with her broken beams and scorched walls, nor did the silence. He could not let that in. He could not let the skeletal remains of this - their second home - overwhelm him. Not when his dearest friend may be dead or dying. 

 

They had failed him, Combeferre just knew it. Combeferre had failed him, he should have been stronger, he should have gone back for the others once he knew Courfeyrac was safe. He told himself he would go back. He said he would go back…

  
"Enjolras!" He choked out, desperate to hear anything and to be heard over the deafening silence. He took the steps two at a time. "Enjolras!"   
  
Enjolras smiled and more tears welled in his eyes as he thought he heard Combeferre. How cruel his mind had been since then. He rarely slept anymore, and it was common for his nightmares to visit him in the light of day. This one was more kind than usual and he was glad that he could hear the voice of his best friend one last time as he raised the gun to his head.    
  
Three things happened in a heartbeat that seemed to skew and stretch into an eternity that would brand itself into Combeferre’s memory for the rest of his days. First, he burst through the upstairs door and lay eyes on Enjolras. Second, Enjolras smiled and raised a pistol to his head and last, Combeferre tackled him to the floor. The chair and the pistol were sent skidding across the uneven panels of the floor. 

  
The two of them lay sprawled on the ground with Combeferre wrapped tightly around Enjolras. When he had calmed and his mind had time enough to comprehend what had just taken place, he squeezed Enjolras even tighter and sobbed into his hair.   
  
Enjolras had had the air knocked out of him and it was a moment before he registered what had happened or could breathe again. He was very thin, and weak for he had not eaten in days, but he put a hand almost timidly on Combeferre's back.   
"...Ferre?"    
  


Tears streamed down Combeferre's cheeks. 

"I'm here, mon frère."

  
Courfeyrac scrambled into the room, his eyes wild with panic.   
"Are you alright?!" He saw Combeferre on the floor holding Enjolras and the floor seemed to fall out from beneath him. He somehow made it across the floor to them, and when he saw that Enjolras was alive his knees finally buckled out from under him.  

  
"Enjolras you bastard!" He wept and pulled them both into his arms.   
  
Combeferre sobbed. He rubbed his hand down Enjolras' back and clutched Courfeyrac against the two of them with the other. His grip around them a protective vice against the world and all it had done to them.

"Oh Enjolras, we thought you lost."   
Enjolras was frighteningly thin and frail and Combeferre's heart broke. What guilt, what pain his friend must have suffered.   
  
"I thought you were dead." Enjolras' voice was even. He did not believe this scene to be real, accustomed as he was to cruel dreams that always ended with him waking alone.   
"Where were you all of this time? Why've you come back now?" He sounded as if he was reciting lines long memorized.   
  
"My father received your letter," Combeferre sat them upright and even though Enjolras's hair had been cut short in regency style, probably some form of disguise, he smoothed it away from his face, an old habit he thought he would never again indulge. 

 

"Courfeyrac and I sought refuge in Eguisheim. We thought you dead, we thought everyone dead and when your letter reached my parents’ home we came straight away."   
He held Enjolras against him again, his heart ached and pounded in his chest as hot tears burned his eyes. 

"I meant to come back, I should have come back. Perhaps you could have been spared suffering in solitude." His voice trembled with tears and guilt.   
  
Enjolras shook his head and nuzzled into Combeferre's shoulder.   
"I deserved it." he whispered.   
"You should have left me. You have your Courfeyrac."   
  
Courfeyrac glared at him through his tears.   
"You cannot simply replace one person with another Enjolras! It's not like you to speak so selfishly! It is SELFISH of you to die now Enjolras. The best thing you can do for your friends is to live!" His tone and his words were harsh but he couldn't stop himself. He was trembled. He was furious. How could he do this to them?   
  
Combeferre took Courfeyrac's hand and squeezed it. 

"Oh, mon frère, Courfeyrac is right, you can not replace one person with another. With your loss there was a part of me carved out and left to bleed and now we are here and we are together again and I need you to survive. _We_ need you to survive, Enjolras. We can never replace what you have lost, nor can we numb the pain, but we all must survive - for one another - because we are all that we have left."   
  
"I am not your brother anymore Combeferre. I am not your friend. I am not Enjolras. There is nothing left of me."

He let his eyes close and his face rest against the warmth of Combeferre's body. He felt as if he had forgotten what it was like to be warm until now. He swallowed and his body gave in to a convulsive shiver as he failed to hold back the wave of emotion that the others were freeing in him that he had locked up for so long.   
"H-e's...gone." he gagged and heaved but he had not eaten in so long that there was nothing to come out. He collapsed against Combeferre and lost consciousness.     
Combeferre's heart broke as he cradled his unconscious friends, his brother despite what Enjolras may feel in his grief.    
  


"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac fretted and cursed and stood up. He paced in a panic and kicked everything within sight despite the pain that shot through him with every movement.   
  
"Courfeyrac, mon cher, surely the Musain and your leg have suffered enough." He said mildly, his voice flat under the weight of all the emotion that he didn't know how to express at once.   
He stood and lifted Enjolras into his arms. This had never been a great feat, and now it was easier than ever. He barely weighed a thing.   
He carried him with one arm and with the other he pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. 

 

"Let us leave this place." 

 

The Musain, once their second home had become a graveyard and their every breath there was an intrusion. Courfeyrac sniffled pathetically and gave a nod, sending a guilty glance at Enjolras and Combeferre and then looked away again.    
  


"I'm not sure how far I can walk my love." he admitted. He had no idea where his cane had got to and all he had with him was his hat. He wondered if their things were still in Enjolras' apartment, but he could not find it in himself to care. All he could think about was how cruel he had been to Enjolras after he had missed him for so long.   
"I should not have said those things..."   
  
"You were frightened and angry, as you had every right to be - your dearest friend had a pistol to his brain." Combeferre shifted Enjolras so that his head wasn't at such an odd angle and offered his free arm for Courfeyrac to brace himself on. Oh, what a sight they would be. He was suddenly thankful for the late hour.

"You can make your amends with him when he awakens, ma cher, and you shall have plenty of time in which to do it, I expect. Perhaps it's only a sneaking suspicion, or perhaps it is the years spent at Enjolras's side but I expect we shall have to take shifts in watching over him."   
  
Courfeyrac teared up again and nodded. He swallowed so that he could answer.   
"Y-you are right. You are always right my love. I love you so much." he whispered. 

 

"I shall remind you that you said that, ma cher," Combeferre pressed a kiss to his curls and even dared to smile a little, "I love you."   
  
When they were nearly there Combeferre stopped to contemplate how to manage the stairs with an injured Courfeyrac and an unconscious Enjolras. Suddenly Enjolras stirred and squirmed out of Combeferre's grip, nearly toppling the lot of them. 

"What's going on?!"   
  
Combeferre sighed - of course Enjolras would choose the head of the stairs to regain consciousness. He held up both of his hands in a show of solidarity. 

"You lost consciousness," Combeferre explained gently, "you've not been eating or sleeping and your body is shutting down. We were taking you somewhere safe to rest your head."   
  
"Home?!" Enjolras regretted the word as soon as he said it.   
"The apartment?" he asked, his voice weaker.   
"It's gone. There's nothing here."   
  
"We saw as much," Combeferre told him softly, "I had thought perhaps the inn would be best for the night and then Courfeyrac and I had hoped to persuade you to return to Eguisheim with us."   
  
Enjolras leaned slightly against a beam as he listened to Combeferre and shook his head.   
"Impossible. I cannot leave Paris, but...I will join you at the inn, if that is alright. I have nowhere else to go. I have given everything away."   
  
Combeferre didn't bother to argue with him. He had agreed to go with them to the inn, it was a small victory and Combeferre would accept it and wage the war later. 

"Mon ami, it is more than alright. Come, it's got quite late." 

He placed his free hand in the small of Enjolras's back and braced Courfeyrac with the other.   
  
"I missed you." Enjolras said, barely above a whisper.   
"I'm so glad that you are....with us." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. 

  
"We missed you too." Courfeyrac's voice was full of tears when he finally spoke again. 

  
Enjolras did not fight it when they stopped at a carriage, usually he preferred to walk, but today, he just wasn't strong enough to walk even if he wanted to.   
  
"We missed you terribly." Combeferre agreed as he saw them both safely into the carriage. He sat opposite them both and he clasped both of Enjolras's hands in his as the carriage began to move. This was an old habit, as the contact always seemed to gain his full attention, if only for a moment. He thought to convince him then, to leave with them, but the time was not right. Enjolras needed food and rest, then perhaps he could be reasoned with. Combeferre did not dare to hope. Enjolras looked at Combeferre as he clasped his hands, but his eyes were dark and empty and it was as if he still could not see him.

  
Courfeyrac was in so much pain that he felt dizzy. He had thought himself healed, but the running and the panic left him feeling as if he had lost weeks of recovery all at once and he wondered how Combeferre held himself together so well.   
He tucked his foot up next to Combeferre's to feel him. Combeferre managed a weak smile for him at the contact. He looked to be in so much pain, Combeferre's heart ached for him; he had overdone it.    
  
Enjolras's eyes had always been so sharp, so clear and to see them empty and distant pained Combeferre. He took deep, quiet breaths to keep himself calm but every moment that passed brought him closer to his breaking point. He had to remain calm for Courfeyrac, for Enjolras.    
It felt like years before they arrived at the inn. Thankfully their belongings had already been delivered to the rooms. Combeferre ordered a simple meal for the three of them, to be delivered to the rooms as they settled in, and a warm bath for Courfeyrac.   
  
Courfeyrac was eager for the bath. He ate quickly and gave Combeferre a quick kiss before he retreated to the bath in the other room, though he held fairly still in the water so that he could hear if they needed him for anything. The hot water helped the aching in his bones and in his wounds and he let out a relieved sigh.   
  
Enjolras curled up on the bed as soon as they got into the inn and fell asleep without touching food or drink. Combeferre ate what he could manage and kept a steady eye on Enjolras as he slept. He may not have eaten but at least he was sleeping. Combeferre would coax food into him when he awoke but for now, rest would do. Combeferre was exhausted, both in body and soul, and the scar across his stomach throbbed with every pulse and every breath.    
He crawled onto the bed next to Enjolras and let his eyes close, though he refused to sleep, lest Courfeyrac have need of him.   
  
Enjolras slept deeply, and the exhaustion lifted slightly from his face with the calm of sleep, but after a little while he curled up, his brows furrowed and he sobbed quietly without ever waking up.   
Combeferre smoothed down Enjolras's hair as he slept. The silent, slumbering sobs pierced his chest but it was better the emotion find its way out rather than being bottled up. Enjolras' sobs quietened at Combeferre's touches but tears still ran down his hollow cheeks. Combeferre thought he heard Courfeyrac and opened one eye. When he saw him he reached out for with him with his free arm, a silent plea for him to be near.   
  


Courfeyrac's heart ached at the sight of them. It was familiar to see those two, the people he loved most, cuddled like this, and yet it wasn't. They both looked so _broken_  it brought tears to his eyes. He locked the door behind him then hurried over to cuddle against Combeferre's chest. He nuzzled into his neck and clutched him tightly.   
  
Combeferre pulled them both close and buried his face in Courfeyrac's damp curls. The arm on which Enjolras lay had long since fallen asleep but Combeferre could not be bothered to care. Enjolras could lie there forever if he wished it.   
Silent tears streamed down his cheeks. He was so tired, so hurt both in body and soul and he had forced himself to suffer silently for too long. He clutched Courfeyrac against him and found solace in the warmth of his body. Many looked to him for comfort and guidance but when Combeferre needed a rock, a foundation upon which to rest and gather his bearings, it had always been his dear Courfeyrac.   
  
Courfeyrac had no words anymore. Everything felt too heavy. This was not like the old days, not in the slightest as glad as he was that Enjolras had lived. He barely felt like Enjolras anymore.   
He reached up to stroke through Combeferre's hair with gentle touches and sang softly to him of summer.   
  
Combeferre calmed beneath the warmth of Courfeyrac's voice, beneath his gentle touch. He had not meant to fall apart, it had happened of its own accord.    
He wiped his eyes and breathed deeply, feeling just a little more at peace.    
"What are the chances he'll have a change of heart when the sun comes up?" He asked gently, not daring to hope that that would be reality.   
  
"Slim to none, mon coeur, but so were the chances of him surviving and of us finding him in time." He answered gently.   
"So perhaps luck will be on our side."   
  
"Let us hope so, mon cher." He pressed a kiss to his love's dark curls and breathed him in. The alternative would be that they had used up all of their luck and Combeferre refused to believe that. "First things first," Combeferre stifled a yawn, "we convince him to eat something, which shall be no less of a challenge I am sure."   
Enjolras had always been difficult when it came to eating, mostly because he simply forgot to at times, and now that he was grief stricken he would be near impossible. Combeferre could not blame him in truth. He could not begin to imagine what he would have done without Courfeyrac but he imagined eating would be the last thing he cared to do. Combeferre absently clutched Courfeyrac tighter as he was reminded just how close he came to losing him.   
  
"I am glad you are with me." Courfeyrac whispered with a catch in his voice as if he had heard his thoughts.    
"Poor Enjolras..."   
He buried his face against Combeferre's chest, then pressed his ear to it and listened to his heart.   
  
Tears burned in Combeferre's eyes once again but did not fall. 

"Trust you to be inside my mind, mon amour. There are times when I think you know my thoughts better than I do." Combeferre smiled sadly and carded his fingers through Courfeyrac's dark curls, watching how the ringlets curled over his fingers. 

"I cannot begin to imagine his pain." Combeferre spoke softly and his voice caught in his throat.

"I only hope that in time he will realize that he does not have to suffer alone any longer. We can not ease his pain, but we can stand beside him through it."   
  
Enjolras had been awake since Courfeyrac had stopped singing, but he kept his eyes closed, no energy or heart to let them know that he was awake. He rolled over to bury his face in his hands.   
  
Combeferre had always taken special care to be respectful of everyone. He never entered a room without knocking or being invited, never spoke while another spoke, and he certainly never forcibly moved someone unless their health depended on it. This was not one of those times. As soon as Enjolras rolled away from them, Combeferre scooped him into his arms and rolled Enjolras over him so that he was tucked firmly between Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He said nothing for there was nothing that he could say to Enjolras to take his pain away and he wouldn't insult him by trying to. Instead, he just held him.   
  
Courfeyrac wrapped his arms tightly around Enjolras, who wrapped his arms around him in return and when Enjolras felt the familiar tickle of curls against his chin he burst into tears. Sobs wracked his entire form and he cried as if his soul was being torn from him and Courfeyrac cried too. Courfeyrac clutched at the back of Combeferre's shirt as he held Enjolras to him, crushed by the taller man as Enjolras held him close and let his out his agony in wails.   
  
Combeferre held the both of them against him, his own tears streaming down his cheeks. All that they had wanted was a better tomorrow, a free world for all and look what it had got them. Was their anguish the price to pay for what had been their faith and hopefulness? Combeferre was sensible, he knew that there was no one to blame, that they had done what they could for a better tomorrow and that each national guard had only done his duty but grief overthrew sense and he found himself cursing God, cursing those that did not rise to stand with them and he held the two he loved best in this world even tighter. They were broken, the three of them, shells of their former selves, but they were together and that was all that mattered.   



	9. Chapter 9

\--THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF THE BARRICADE--

 

Shafts of sunlight shone around the cracks in Enjolras’ curtains and gave the room a pleasant golden, glow. The particles of dust that floated through it shone like fireflies and danced above his head, which was framed with white blankets. Grantaire’s curly head rested upon his chest, but he had Enjolras’ hand’s pinned in his own. Enjolras’ face was flushed and twisted with the effort not to laugh as Grantaire teased him.

 

Grantaire realised vaguely that he was probably enjoying this far more than he should, but given how much fun he found winding Enjolras up in general it wasn’t much of a surprise. He leaned up to press a brief kiss to Enjolras’ lips before returning to his position on his chest.

“That is neither a promise nor an apology, and you know it.”

 

Enjolras let out a frustrated cry and tried to roll them over but he was in a perfectly inconvenient position and he couldn’t do it without the risk of hurting one of them. 

 

“Fine! I do, I apologize and I promise! Now let me go you blasphemous little adorable heathen!”

 

Grantaire’s expression was caught in a strange mix of confused, flattered and amused at Enjolras’ words. 

 

“Darling stop it, you’ll make me blush.” He teased as he committed Enjolras’ exact phrasing to memory for later use. However, he kept his word and waited only a few moments more before shifting to kiss Enjolras again and releasing his wrists in favour of cupping his cheeks gently.

 

Enjolras immediately wrapped his arms around Grantaire and kissed him back, annoyed with himself at how desperately. 

 

“You are impossible.”

He whispered in between kisses. 

“It is no wonder I cannot resist you.”

 

“Really?” Grantaire mumbled in response. “I was rather under the impression it was more due to my nature as a-” here he paused to lean back slightly and give his best impression of Enjolras, although he set his jaw and furrowed his brow in righteous anger rather than arranging his features into an expression of desperation, and his voice when he spoke again was an exaggerated mockery of Enjolras’ usual tone for addressing Grantaire in meetings; “-‘blasphemous little adorable heathen!’” 

Then his expression relaxed into a teasing grin as he moved closer to kiss Enjolras again.

“My pride and reputation both are mortally wounded that you would think of me as such.”

 

Enjolras’ face had mostly recovered from the previous blush that Grantaire’s speech had brought about, but it returned instantly and he covered his face with a dramatic groan. 

“Trust you to remember such pointless and embarrassing detail -and I do not speak in such a manner!”

 

“Remember them? I will have them carved into my tombstone! Engraved above me forever when I am, so to speak, in grave.” Grantaire promised gleefully. “Certainly it is the kindest description anyone has ever formed of me. If you need further proof of your tone I would perform it at the meeting later, and have all and any of our friends swear it the same as yours when you find yourself forced to address me at such events.”

 

\--AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE BARRICADE--

 

The sun had come up by the time Enjolras' wailing tears had quieted to a sniffle and he fell asleep again, nearly passing out from pure exhaustion.    
Courfeyrac had fallen asleep several hours earlier with himself firmly wrapped around Enjolras and his grip like a vice on Combeferre's shirt. Combeferre didn't manage sleep until the late morning, despite his own weariness. How could he? How could he sleep while they suffered? He drew no comfort in the relative silence of their soft breathing when their only reprieve from grief was exhaustion.

  
Combeferre watched the others sleep for a while - watched the gentle rise and fall of each man's chest and he held them both as if his own life depended on it. He held on to Courfeyrac's arm and skimmed his thumb slightly over his shoulder and he tucked Enjolras's head beneath his chin and he let his own eyes close against the morning light.    
There was a giant, gaping hole carved into Enjolras's life and such wounds were beyond the ability of medicine Combeferre felt helpless. He was a natural protector but he could not protect Enjolras from this agony as he could not protect their friends.   
His body felt numb, long since emptied of tears and when he fell asleep there was no reprieve from the pain of their loss. There was only the memory of times of laughter and conversations that would never be held or heard again and ,worse still, Combeferre knew every moment that he was dreaming that he would have to wake eventually and risk never living this moment again.   
  
Enjolras's heart pounded with excitement as he felt a warm body pressed to his and saw a mess of curls and for barely a second he felt the pure, unrestrained joy of believing that it had all been a dream but then it was Courfeyrac against him and Combeferre as well, looking exhausted. Enjolras's heart sank lower than it had been yesterday and his tears didn't even fall, he just buried his face against Courfeyrac and waited to disappear.   
  
As if he sensed Enjolras's distress, Combeferre reached for him even before he fully awoke. He sought his hand and squeezed it. "Enjolras?" His voice was laced with concern, groggy, but warm.   
  
Enjolras didn't move or respond to the touch. His hands were so cold.    
"We were to be married." He said his voice lacking any tone.    
"When the revolution was won." His voice cracked then and he fell silent.   
  
Combeferre opened his eyes and winced against the light of day. If he'd had any tears left in his body, he would have shed them for Enjolras.    
"I do not pretend to know the grief in your heart," he said finally, "but I am sorry, sorry for your loss, Enjolras. I do not imagine that the ache will ever fade, but you must live. If not for me, for Courfeyrac, for France, or even for yourself, you must live for Grantaire." He squeezed his hand and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. 

“Will you not try?”   
  
"I do not want to." He whispered.    
"I feel as if I am already dead."   
  
"But you are not," Combeferre reminded him and even to him it seemed a cruel reminder. 

"You live still and live you must because you have the choice, Enjolras. Do not insult the memory of our friends by choosing death when we fought so vehemently for life."   
  
Courfeyrac started awake and rubbed his eyes with a groggy whine.    
  


Enjolras sat up.    
"What do you know of choice? Of pain?! You are the lucky one! You still have him - your whole world, your heart! I have lost everything! I have lost the revolution and I have killed my friends and I have killed him - my own heart! My world is gone and there is no life in me anymore!" 

Despite his words the anger rose a color in Enjolras's face and fire in his eyes and he looked more alive than he had since they'd found him.

Combeferre sat quietly through Enjolras's outburst. It was the most like himself that he had seen his friend since they had found him and even if he had to take his anger out on Combeferre, Combeferre would shoulder all of it, all of the rage and the pain if it meant that Enjolras could keep going. 

 

"Oh, Enjolras," he said finally when Enjolras had finished, 

"You fool. Do you think so little of your friends to truly believe that you killed them? They died at the hands of the national guard, they died in the name of tomorrow and of freedom, not in your name. I won't remind you that they were my friends, too, as you seem to have forgotten, or that Courfeyrac too has suffered. You say there is no life in you, and you are wrong, the fires of your blood have not yet been extinguished as you would let them be, as it would be so easy to let them be. What do I know of choice, of loss, you ask me? I know plenty, mon frere. There were times when I had sunk so low that it felt easier to drown and be lost but eventually you must break the surface and not because you want to, but because you have to. Because someone depends on you to and, before you say it, do not dare to tell me that no one depends on you when I am here in front of you, when Courfeyrac sleeps at your side." 

 

Courfeyrac whimpered and curled up with his eyes closed and his ears covered. He could never stand Combeferre and Enjolras arguing  _ really _ arguing. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was shivering.    
Enjolras looked down at him as Combeferre spoke and guilt etched onto his features.   
He covered his face and leaned against Combeferre.   
"I'm sorry mon frere."   
  
Combeferre wrapped an arm around him and rested his chin atop his golden head. He sought Courfeyrac's hand with his other, gently prying his hand from over his ear and squeezing it in silent apology for having woken him with their argument. He had been so exhausted, his mind and body overworked, lord knows Courfeyrac needed his rest.

 

"It's alright," Combeferre said softly and he spoke to both of them, 

"Or rather, it shall be. Perhaps not right now, but it shall be, one way another....but if you  _ truly _ want to make amends, you could have something for breakfast."   
  
Courfeyrac turned his head to kiss Combeferre's hand gently and seemed to relax a little as their fighting stopped.   
  
"I'm not hungry." Enjolras' tone was apologetic.   
"A-and if I try I may vomit."   
  
"You never are until you take a bite," Combeferre told him mildly.

"Won't you try? Just a few bites, to ease my mind, and if you vomit I won't bother you about it again."   
  
Enjolras frowned deeply but the expectant looks on Combeferre and Courfeyrac's faces made him sigh and nod.   
"Fine."   
  
Combeferre barely contained his triumphant smile. "Thank you, mon frere."   
He pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads and left the bed to see breakfast brought to the room, something simple and light that Enjolras's neglected stomach would be able to handle.   
  
Courfeyrac tried making conversation with Enjolras while Combeferre was gone, but he couldn't get an answer from him. He tried a few times to talk about how beautiful Combeferre's home was, or about his family, or just the weather, but finally he gave up and got up to wash his face.   
  
Combeferre returned to silence which was honestly what he expected. He wondered if gone forever were the days of walking in on their chatter, of catching Courfeyrac laughing so hard he could barely breathe and Enjolras lighting the room with his smile.    
He'd brought a meal of broth, cheese, and bread, and tea for the three of them. Courfeyrac eagerly dug into the bread and cheese, but tried to leave a good portion for Enjolras. He kept glancing at him with a nervous expression, as if he half expected him to summon a pistol from nowhere and end himself in front of them.   
  
Enjolras took a bowl of broth and stared at it for a long time before he managed to swallow a spoonful.   
  
Combeferre picked at a slice of bread and found that he wasn't very hungry himself. He only ate because it would be hypocritical of him to guilt Enjolras into eating when he denied food himself.     
He nudged Courfeyrac with his foot beneath the table to draw his nervous energy away from Enjolras and also just for the contact. Courfeyrac's expression softened and he offered Combeferre a timid smile before turning back to his food. Enjolras finished the broth and suddenly his stomach growled loudly and he doubled over as pain shot through his stomach and he groaned.   
  


"Enjolras?" Combeferre was at his side in an instant. It appeared as if Enjolras had gone longer without food than he had feared and both stress and starvation had taken a toll on his stomach.   
  
"It's alright- it just hurts." Enjolras squeezed Combeferre's hand and gave him as close to a smile as he was going to get.   
  
"Here," Combeferre returned his almost-smile with a gentle smile of his own and poured a glass of water for Enjolras (the last thing he needed was the caffeine from tea) and offered it to him, "drink this, then perhaps you should lie down."   
  
Enjolras nodded and accepted the water. He managed a few mouth full before he returned to the bed and flopped on his back with a groan.    
Courfeyrac was beaming. He felt bad that Enjolras hurt but he and Combeferre were finally being civil and it warmed his heart.   
  
Combeferre watched him worriedly, even after he had plopped onto the bed. He was so thin and he had eaten so little but Combeferre knew from experience that these things had to be handle gradually and with utmost care. It seemed grief and starvation were alike in more ways than one.   
He caught a glimpse of Courfeyrac over his cup and a smile bloomed on his face without realization or effort to see his love's mood so improved. He nodded towards Enjolras and raised a brow, a silent question as to whether they should broach the subject of leaving Paris or not.   
Courfeyrac shook his head. Enjolras was barely even ready to accept being alive, let alone being uprooted. They'd have to give him some time.   
  
Enjolras gripped his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. A few tears slipped down his cheeks as he tried to imagine what Grantaire might say, how he would have turned all of this on its head and made a joke of it, but he found it hard enough to remember his voice with his tired and foggy brain.   
  
Combeferre nodded with a small shrug. Courfeyrac was right, as he so often was. He reached across the table to take Courfeyrac's hand and squeeze it, skimming his thumb over his knuckles.   
"I am going to have a bath," he said quietly. He hadn't had one since they had left Eguisheim and his body and mind needed it. He nodded to Enjolras, knowing that Courfeyrac would understand and take the watch.   
Courfeyrac offered him an understanding smile and nodded.    
"Do not take too long mon coeur." he squeezed his hand in return. He decided to use the time to try and think of things to do to cheer Enjolras up. If he couldn't eat properly, perhaps cafes and restaurants were not the best, and he wasn't  fond of balls or operas, but perhaps a walk in the park, there were plenty of seats.   
  
Enjolras' eyes had closed again and it was difficult to tell if he'd fallen asleep again or not.   
  
"I won't be long," Combeferre promised softly and bent to kiss his curls before he disappeared into the wash room.    
Moments later, Combeferre was sinking into the hot water, as much as the standard sized tub would allow, and occupying his mind in much the same way that Courfeyrac was: trying to find a way to bring cheer back into Enjolras's life.    
He had once gained joy from walking the streets of Paris but Combeferre couldn't help but to wonder if those same streets would offer insult to him now. It was worth a try, perhaps to wander beside the Seine, to stroll through the park would bring life back into his friend's heart.   
Combeferre got out before the water even had chance to turn cold, loathe to be away from Courfeyrac and Enjolras for too long.    
His hair was still dripping when he entered the room.

"Sleeping?" He mouthed to Courfeyrac with a nod towards Enjolras before he bent to press a kiss to his lips.   
  
Courfeyrac's face brightened when Combeferre walked in. He looked back at Enjolras - he was curled up on his side facing them and there was a small smile on his lips. Courfeyrac swallowed back the lump in his throat and turned back to Combeferre, trying not to cry and nodded.    
Courfeyrac stood up and wrapped his arms around Combeferre tightly and pressed his face against his chest. Combeferre enveloped him in his arms and held him close, closer than he had since they had arrived. 

 

"I’ve got you, mon amour. Do not hold back your tears," his voice was quiet, merely a whispered against Courfeyrac's curls lest they wake Enjolras from his sleepy reprieve from their cruel reality. Combeferre buried his face in Courfeyrac's hair and breathed him in, reminding himself that they were still there, together. Courfeyrac's body shook with his tears but he was careful not to be too loud, afraid of waking Enjolras. He knew the poor dear would be worse than ever when he woke up if his dreams were cruelly kind but he didn't want to deny them to him. Why did it hurt so much more to see him happy? Perhaps because it wasn't real.    
He buried his face against Combeferre's chest as he squeezed him tight, then tugged him down for a soggy but desperate kiss. Combeferre couldn't tell whether it was Courfeyrac's or his own tears that wet his cheeks and he couldn't be bothered to care. He clutched Courfeyrac to him, desperately, as if any amount of space between them would allow Courfeyrac to disappear forever. 

"I love you," he whispered against his lips and cupped his face in his hands.   
  
"I love you." Courfeyrac choked in reply, trying to keep his voice soft.   
"I am scared." He whispered.   
"I have been since..."   
  
"I am too," Combeferre admitted and pressed their foreheads together. 

"Courfeyrac, I am so scared and I do not know what to do. For once, I just don't know what to do." He felt weak, helpless and it finally showed. Courfeyrac pulled Combferre to the chair and climbed into his lap. He wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled into his shoulder.   
  


"It can't be like this forever." He whispered.   
  


Combeferre leaned against him weakly and all but buried his face in Courfeyrac's hair. He calmed in Courfeyrac's arms, he no longer felt about to fall apart. He could breathe. 

"I wish I could say that it won't. Baptiste, what do we do? Where do we go from here?"   
Courfeyrac swallowed. Combeferre so rarely used his name. It was usually reserved for their most private moments, such as the day they'd exchanged their rings.   
He reached inside his shirt and pulled the chain over his head and showed the ring to him.   
  


"We might not be able to see our path now but we will find it. We have one another. We can do anything."   
  


Combeferre absently touched his own ring through his shirt and offered Courfeyrac a small smile. "You are right, mon cher, as always." He kissed him gently, "do you ever manage to be wrong?"   
  
Courfeyrac scoffed dramatically as he returned his to around his neck.   
"Certainly! Mon Dieu! You should have seen me in eighteen twenty five it was embarrassing. The shoes ...ergh. Perhaps it is better you did not, you would never have fallen in love with me."

  
Combeferre laughed for the first time in what felt like days. 

"On the contrary, mon amour, somehow I have fallen even more for you at the mere thought. Did I ever tell you when first I realized the depth of my affection for you?"   
  
Courfeyrac blushed and ducked his head, smiling sweetly as he looked up at him.   
"No, well a little, but make sure that as you do you include how handsome and irresistible I am."   
  
"You were the most miserable and insufferable ass," Combeferre recalled fondly. 

"You caught a cold and commandeered my bed for the weekend, do you remember? You lie there sniffling and cursing everything with your hair sticking in every direction and I realized that of all the humans in this world, you were my favorite."   
  
Courfeyrac blushed again and looked taken aback.   
"Even then?"   
  
"Even then," Combeferre told him softly, his eyes incredibly fond and warm as he gently brushed some of Courfeyrac's curls away from his face.

"And more every day since."   
  
Courfeyrac hid his blushing face against Combeferre's shoulder and hugged him tightly.   
"Me too. I couldn't think how else to win your attention."   
  
"I thought you were merely trying to get out of classes at first," Combeferre stroked his fingers along Courfeyrac's back as he recalled, "but you looked too magnificent lying in my bed to make you go."   
  
"Mmm I look magnificent in any bed." Courfeyrac gave him a suggestive look and trailed his fingers down his side.   
"But yes, missing my classes was simply a benefit of the overall plan." He giggled softly.   
  
"I've years of experience that agree with you on that point, mon cher," Combeferre hummed and placed a hand to the back of his neck and pulled him down for a lingering kiss. He nuzzled his nose when they separated and sighed near wistfully. 

"The weeks of torment that followed that weekend, mon cher."   
  
Courfeyrac shivered.   
"You can hardly blame me. It was you who wouldn't have me in the back room." he whispered back with a smile in his voice.   
  
Combeferre, forever bitter about the fact that he could have had Courfeyrac that much sooner, scoffed. 

"I thought you were  _ joking _ ," he groaned.   
  
"I never joke about sex or fashion."   
  
Enjolras put his hand on the other pillow and squeezed it, balling the fabric of the pillowcase in his hand. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine his hand on Grantaire's chest. He tried to remember what it was like to feel his warm body against his and smell his hair and hear his heartbeat. He swallowed a lump in his throat and tears streamed down his cheeks but he faced away from the others and kept silent. It was better to hear them happy.    
  


Combeferre and Courfeyrac had made their way into the other room to be able to speak without the worry of waking Enjolras. They sat curled up beside one another on the bed and Combeferre held Courfeyrac firmly against himself.

 

"How ever did I become so fortunate?" Combeferre took Courfeyrac's hands in his own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.   
  
  
Courfeyrac smiled at him and stroked lazily through his hair.   
"I thought I might as well stoop." He giggled at that.   
"I never know what I did to deserve you."   
  
"I never stood a chance," Combeferre laughed softly and gazed back at him.

"I was yours before even I knew it, before even you said hello."   
  


Courfeyrac let out a soft hum of agreement.   
"Our hearts were crafted by God Himself to fit against one another."   
  
"I could not have said it better myself, mon cher," Combeferre pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

"You are right, as always."   
  
"I always am." Courfeyrac replied with a little chuckle. He let out a content sigh then glanced over at the door and his smile faded.   
  
Combeferre squeezed his hand and cupped his cheek to press a soft kiss against his lips. 

"Let's go," he said softly, "we've been away for too long already."   
  
Courfeyrac nodded. He sat up and stretched with a groan and then made his way to the other room.   
  


It was empty.   
  
Combeferre swore under his breath when he joined Courfeyrac in the other room a moment later. In hindsight, he didn’t know what else he had expected. He pinched the bridge of his nose and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, kicking himself for his carelessness.

 

"Well," he sighed, "there's always the small hope that he hasn't gone far. Shall we?" 

He was already halfway to the door.   
  
Courfeyrac shoved on his hat as he hurried after Combeferre, panic gripping him.  _ Not again, not again. _ __   
"It's all my fault! If I had not felt the need to...to ramble on like a fool enough to let him out of our sights-"   
  
Combeferre paused only to take his hand and bring it to his lips.

"None of that," he said softly, "there's no time for blame for panic. We find Enjolras, then we wallow in our guilt."


	10. Chapter 10

\--TWO MONTHS BEFORE THE EVENTS OF THE BARRICADE--

 

“My hands will be cold.” Enjolras warned with a tease in his breathless voice.   
“But I need you, and I want you now - the meeting will part us this evening.”    
  
“Enjolras.” Grantaire began in an attempt at sincerity, swiftly ruined by a laugh as frustrated as it was amused. “If I cared for the temperature of your hands I would have sought the affections of a blanket.” Enjolras’ last words had a peculiar effect on Grantaire, making him feel both more and less urgent at the same time. “You have me.” He assured him. “You have me and you may have me, in every sense conceivable and a few more besides. The meeting is not until this evening and will last only a couple of torturous hours, and even then we will be parted no more than ten paces.” He pulled a disgusted face at the last sentence. “I am evidently in need of company other than yourself for those couple of hours anyway - that sounded almost optimistic, and dearly as I love you I can’t allow myself to grow such hopeful words or thoughts.”   
  
Enjolras beamed down at him. He’d never heard Grantaire take the optimistic view on anything for all the time he’d known him, and more over he was sober as he said it.   
He was smiling almost too much to kiss him, but he managed as he cupped his cheek in his hand.   
“I love you.” He whispered in between kisses.   
“I love you, though it is clear that I do need to let you out.” he laughed delightedly.    
  
  
“There’s no need to look so pleased with yourself.” Grantaire grumbled affectionately, fighting hard to resist a smile of his own in return for the breathtaking one lighting up Enjolras’ face. “I’ll just have to be more careful not to let you ruin me.” He whispered. “Snake in my ear, you would have both myself and my Paris devouring your optimism, and you would have us adoring every second of it. That is, had I not the common sense to stay far enough away from any edges to avoid falling.”   
  
Enjolras’ eyelids lowered and his smile tilted just slightly, just enough to make his angelic face look wicked. He leaned down to brush his lips against his ear.    
“I am no devil.” He whispered, but the way he took his earlobe between his teeth and gave it a tug suggested he wasn’t an angel either.    
  
Grantaire moaned, his hands flying up to tangle in Enjolras’ hair. “All lies” he gasped “you must be at least the devil, if not something worse. I would rather that than an angel, in the most selfish of ways.” He twisted his head to kiss him fiercely. “I love you.”   
  
“As I love you.”

 

\--AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE BARRICADE--

 

Enjolras had made it as far as the bridge before his legs had given out. He sat curled up against the railing and watching the water shine in the afternoon sun. The sound of it could reach his ears when the traffic of cart, horse and pedestrian slowed. The song of it lulled him and his mind felt comfortably quiet and numb.

 

Instinct led Combeferre to the river and his feet moved nearly on their own. He breathed a sigh of relief to spy a familiar blond head resting against the railing. Combeferre gave Courfeyrac a relieved look and closed the distance between them and Enjolras. Courfeyrac returned Combeferre's gaze and looked about to collapse with relief himself as he squeezed Combeferre's arm in return. They joined Enjolras against the railing silently.   
  
"I needed air." Enjolras said by way of explanation.    
"Then I decided to rest a moment." He said as if he hadn't nearly fainted again.   
  
_ More like collapsed from exhaustion and severe dehydration _ , Combeferre thought with a sigh that he barely managed to keep internal. Enjolras had never been particularly adept at managing his own health, and Combeferre knew better than to expect him to now. 

 

"Of course you did," he said softly, "I hope you don't mind if we join you."   
  
"It's fine."    
Enjolras let his eyes close and let out a tired breath. He was starting to feel less like he was dead and more that he was simply empty. In that moment he truly believed that there was no fight left in him any more.    
  
Combeferre pressed his hand to his own chest as he sat beside him and clutched his ring through his shirt as he found solace in the memory of Courfeyrac's vows before all of this had happened.

 

"What do you need, Enjolras?"   
  
Enjolras thought over the question for a long time. His first instinct was to lie and say that he needed and wanted nothing but he tried to find the answer for Combeferre he deserved that much.    
  


"Grantaire." His voice cracked. Enjolras had not spoken his name aloud since the moment he had realized that he had lived and Grantaire had not. 

  
"I know that, mon ami, I know." Combeferre wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled Enjolras into his side, whatever was thought by any who passed by be damned. 

 

"I cannot give him back to you, regardless of how I wish to. I know that you are lost and you are empty, and we would not expect any different of you, but know this: we will be beside you."   
  
~*~   
  
The summer had begun to swelter and the heavy sun painted the valley with licks of fire. The sunflowers of Eguisheim bowed their seed laden heads as their carriage rattled along the winding road. Combeferre placed a gentle hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "We're nearly there," he announced softly to both of his companions. He returned his gaze to the fields, half expecting to see Emilie pop out amongst the flowers and run alongside them and he smiled with the knowledge that she awaited them.   
  
Under Combeferre’s strict supervision, Enjolras had gained back a little of the weight he had lost, though he was still quite thin. He was clean shaven and wore all black in simple but elegant clothing that Courfeyrac had bought for him. He still refused to wear any cravat but Grantaire's, which was tied lovingly at his neck.    
  
Courfeyrac stirred from sleep and excitedly looked out the window.    
"Oh, ‘Ferre it's beautiful! Look the flowers are simply glowing! Soon I will have my waistcoats and my hats! Oh, and we can eat your lovely cook's masterpieces!"   
  
"Yes, mon cher, I'm sure Madame Eleanor has already prepared a feast to celebrate your arrival," Combeferre smiled fondly at him, far more delighted by Courfeyrac's excitement than the sunflowers outside. 

  
It was nearly half an hour later before the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Combeferre's childhood home. Combeferre stepped out first and awaited Courfeyrac and Enjolras to do the same. Not a moment later, a familiar head of wild golden curls broke through the flowers fields and Emilie was bounding toward them, her green dressed streaked with mud and billowing out behind her as she made her way towards the carriage and directly past her brother. 

 

"Monsieur Courfeyrac!"

  
Combeferre cleared his throat

.   
"Yes, yes hello Henri," Emilie muttered distractedly as she all but climbed inside the carriage.   
  
"Mademoiselle Aphrodite!"   
Courfeyrac greeted her excitedly and captured her in a laughing hug, then shooed her out so that he could climb out next, proudly sporting her straw hat. He held his cane, but stood without its help. Being back in Eguisheim did good for his very soul. No medicine could have the same effect of fresh air and beautiful rolling meadows, or of that little house covered as it was in morning glories, and the family that he felt was his own.   
  
Emilie laughed delighted as she hopped from the carriage and only  _ then _ did she decide to pay attention to her brother who, feigning offense, ignored her completely, despite how Emilie wrapped around his middle.    
Finally she sighed. 

"Ugggghhhh, fine. Dearest and best of men and brothers, won't you acknowledge your poor, sweet sister?"   
"I'll consider it."   
"Henri the world grows dark, my heart freezes! Spare me-"   
"Good heavens, Emilie," Combeferre swept her into a hug and twirled her about before setting her firmly back on the ground, "do hush."   
"You're insufferable," she rolled her eyes but she was beaming and bouncing on her heels and waited for Enjolras to emerge. She had been eager to meet him for years, ever since her brother had first began mentioning him in his letters.   
  


Enjolras watched them as if didn't really see them, their happiness felt abstract and distant as a dream, but it warmed what was left of his heart a little to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac so happy. 

 

He stepped down from the carriage and stood. Not quite as tall as Combeferre, but tall enough to feel quite cramped after a long ride, and he was grateful to stand with a straight back once more.   
He tipped his hat, circled with mourning crepe, to Emilie, but did not speak. To Emilie he looked broken and small despite being much taller than her. The man Henri had written to her of had been bursting with fire and fury but this man, this man was a wisp of flame, a trail of smoke. He looked as if all he wanted to do was disappear and Emilie could not blame him, not after what he had endured. She walked right up to him and took both of his hands in her own, foregoing any introduction, and smiled softly as she met his eyes. 

 

"I'm so glad that you are here, monsieur." Sometimes when all someone wanted to do was disappear, they needed to know someone was glad to have them around, despite how broken or how empty they felt.   
  
Enjolras' blue eyes widened and immediately filled with tears at her words and he looked away, embarrassed to cry in front of a stranger.   
  


"If you will excuse me, mademoiselle."    
He gently tugged his hands from hers to reach into his sleeve for a handkerchief.   
  
Emilie nodded and stepped away to give him the space she knew that he needed. Despite being so outward and seemingly aloof, Emilie read people better than most.   
She returned to Courfeyrac's side and looping her arm through his as Combeferre went to Enjolras. He squeezed his shoulder. 

 

"Do you have need of fresh air before we venture in?"

 

Enjolras cleared his throat and nodded.   
"Perhaps that would be best." He glanced curiously back at Emilie with a nervous frown.

  
Combeferre followed his line of sight. "My sister, Emilie," he said as if Enjolras didn't already know, "She can be a bit...forward would be putting it mildly."

 

Enjolras shook his head.   
"She means well." He said softly, still a little dazed by her abrupt kindness.

 

"That she does," Combeferre smiled fondly at where his sister stood and placed his hand in the small of his dear friend's back. "She worries so much for others that I often fear she forgets to worry for herself. Come, let us enjoy the air while there is plenty of light left, shall we?"   
  


Courfeyrac put his hand on Emilie's and watched Enjolras and Combeferre warily until he was sure that Combeferre had the situation under control before turning his attention to Emilie.   
"So Mademoiselle Aphrodite, how many broken hearted suitors have you left in your wake while I've been away?"   
  
"Not nearly enough," Emilie beamed, "in fact I don't believe I shall rest until every heart in Eguisheim has been properly shattered. Now, dear brother, how have your fared? Still looking like a proper bumpkin  I see," she teased with a wink, "I took the liberty of laying out a fresh outfit for you, one that you may find more comfortable."   
But not before she had tried it on herself for fun, but that part he had no need of knowing.   
  
Courfeyrac's eyes lit up and he kissed her cheek.   
"My dear sister! You have outdone yourself!" he hugged her happily, too small to lift her as Combeferre did but the spirit was certainly there.    
  
Emilie hugged him with just as much enthusiasm and was actually quite pleased to not have to climb someone to meet their shoulders, even if Courfeyrac was still a bit taller than her. She released him and cast a glance to where her brother and Enjolras spoke in hushed tones. 

 

"There's such a light in him, Courfeyrac, buried and crushed beneath his sorrow, but it remains." She shook her heads, her wild curls falling about her face. "Come, Maman will be so pleased to see you again!"   
  
"He um..." Courfeyrac frowned deeply, trying to delicately admit how grave a condition Enjolras was in.    
"He is not well, but I hope the air here will do him well." Of course, by air he meant the beautiful scenery, and pleasant company and overall warmth and cheer this place had given to him.    
"I shall be pleased to see her as well! And Madame Eleanor." he rubbed his stomach excitedly.    
  
"I pray that you are right, dear brother." Emilie patted his hand and led him inside. "Madame Eleanor has been in the kitchens all day in preparation for the three of you, though I suspect more for you." 

  
Madame Combeferre was upon them as soon as they entered and she looked taken aback to not immediately see Henri and be able to scold him for leaving without a proper goodbye but a small explanation from Emilie and the sight of Courfeyrac's face hushed her. Courfeyrac made sure to look particularly grave as  Emilie made her excuses for Henri, not that it was difficult, all he had to do was drop his smile these days. He hated how old he felt he looked, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use it to his advantage.   
  


"That brother of yours," Madame Combeferre tsked, "he has no sympathy for my poor, poor nerves. Oh, but that's nothing new in the slightest. Come, come won't you dear Courfeyrac? It's so wonderful to see you again! Have you any need of anything dear?"   
Emilie barely restrained a smile, well used to her mother. 

 

"Madame you look so young, has my dear Henri frightened you to lose weight over him? I assure you he did not mean it. But ooh let us not speak of food I am dreadfully hungry..."   
  


Madame Combeferre giggled and blushed. She gushed over the young man's charms, "You're too much, sweet boy!" She said in a voice that clearly said she enjoyed every moment, "come, let's get food in you, shall we? We can't have such a handsome face wasting away!"   
Emilie gave Courfeyrac an impressed smile at charming their mother so easily and she wondered absently if their mother had any inclination at all that she was fawning over her own son in law.

 

Courfeyrac gave Emilie a wink then clutched Madame Combeferre's hand and kissed it.    
"Madame I owe you my life, sweet savior!"

 

Madame Combeferre giggled and held her hand to her chest, 

"Oh how I have missed this darling boy!" She shooed them both to the dining room and explained to Madame Eleanor that Henri and monsieur Enjolras would likely be joining late but dear Courfeyrac was 'in dire need of spoiling'

.    
Monsieur Combeferre entered not a moment later with a kind smile to Courfeyrac. 

 

"Ah! Monsieur Courfeyrac, you look well, dear boy!"   
He took a seat at the table, clearly intending to take full advantage of the feast that had awaited their arrival, but Madame Combeferre was having none of it. Monsieur Combeferre was served a salad and, though it was grand, he scowled and muttered something about "leaf nonsense".   
  


"And you as well Monsieur Combeferre! So full of life!"   
Courfeyrac ate perhaps too much before the promised feast, digging into the cookies in particular- one of which he snuck to Monsieur Combeferre.    
  


Outside, Enjolras nodded and looked around to try and guess where they would take their walk.   
"Are there... any erm...apples?"

 

"Funny story about our apple tree," Combeferre told him and nodded in the direction that they would be walking, just beyond the house, near the pond. "I broke my arm as a boy, falling from that tree. I was seven, I believe, and that was my first real encounter with a doctor. I had never met anyone so interesting before! To think that someone could devote their life to healing and helping! I wanted nothing else after that."   
  
Enjolras glanced in the direction Combeferre had nodded and was fairly certain that he picked out the apple tree. Most of the apples had been picked or fallen, but it was an apple tree all the same, and quite big, he could see how Combeferre had been injured falling from it. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine a whole orchard.   
"I should like to see it bloom. That is, if your family can bear me until Spring."

 

Monsieur Combeferre looked as if he had never loved anything or anyone more than he loved Courfeyrac in that moment. If Madame Combeferre noticed the slight of hand, she said nothing.   
Emilie ate with equal vigor, chattering happily with everyone though her eyes kept flitting to the door as she await her brother and his dear friend. Courfeyrac looked incredibly proud of himself at how well he won over Combeferre's parents. Though it wasn't difficult and he adored them. They were much more fun and easy to please than his own. 

  
Combeferre gave him a gentle smile. "Trust me when I tell you that nothing would delight them more, mon frere."   
Honestly, with how adamant the Combeferre family seemed on welcoming anyone they could into their home it, it was amazing the household was not larger.   
Combeferre led him to the tree and stood beneath it's sprawling branches for a moment before he scaled the tree, quite more skilled than he had been at seven, and plucked one of the last remaining apples from a high branch. He tossed it down to Enjolras and descended to perch on a low branch.   
  
Enjolras caught the apple and turned it over in his hand, examining it until his eyes flooded with tears. In the relative privacy he allowed himself to cry long and hard and he found when he was done he felt the tiniest bit better. He ate the apple when the lump in his throat had died down and closed his eyes and thought of Grantaire as if he could share it with him.   
  
Combeferre sat in silence with him until he finished the apple. Only then did he hop down from his perch and place his hand on Enjolras's shoulder. If nothing else, it did him good to see Enjolras eating. 

"Are you ready to go in? We've all the time in the world, if not."   
  
  
  
Enjolras startled and his eyes snapped open but the he looked almost disappointed when he saw his poor friends face.    
He looked down at the apple seeds he'd carefully saved in his hand then nodded.    
"Do I look as though I have been crying?"   
  
Combeferre gave him an understanding look. He didn't bother to explain to Enjolras that no one here would shame him for his tears, he knew Enjolras well enough to know that that wouldn't matter. 

"No, mon ami, but let us take the long way back to the house anyway, shall we?"   
He gently closed Enjolras's hand over the seeds and gestured to the path that wound around the pond before it circled back to the small home.   
  
Enjolras tightened his hand around the seed and stood. He felt a little less dizzy these days after Combeferre had been forcing food and drink into him.    
"This is ...good. Very pretty."   
  
He was getting stronger every day, but Combeferre still placed a hand at his back to guide and steady him. "Wait till you see it in autumn," he said with a small smile, "Eguisheim is such a quiet place and yet, she becomes loud and brash, a living sunset in autumn.” He sighed, envisioning the beauty of it.  

“Where will you plant them?" He asked after a moment with a slight nod to the hand grasped around the seeds.   
  
Enjolras blinked up at him at the question.    
"I...if your father would permit I should like to plant them near to the parent that they might have some company but perhaps I could grow them in a pot to start with? Just to keep an eye on them. I've never...I gave..I've never tried growing anything before."   
  


"I'm sure that he would be most honored- thrilled, actually, to finally have an orchard. If I recall, which I do, Emilie dabbled with pottery for, oh, I'd say a year or so; I'm sure she would be delighted to donate a pot to the cause."   
He was thrilled that Enjolras was expressing interest in something; watching something grow would be good for Enjolras. "Well, there is no time like the present to try," Combeferre gave him a small smile, "To grow something is to share your time and yourself with it, mon ami, and it is good for the soul."   
The sun was beginning to set as they made their way up the path.   
  
Enjolras didn't answer, feeling quite overwhelmed by the prospect of interacting with so many new people.    
He kept his grip tight on the apple seeds and sank back into his thoughts.    
  
Combeferre led him to the lesser used backdoor, far away from the busy dining room and held it open for him. "I don't suppose you are particularly hungry," he mused softly. "You needn't feel like a stranger here, Enjolras, you'll find nothing but warmth and welcome here. Even so, if you wish to retire for the evening, no one would dare fault you for it."   
  


Enjolras looked grateful.    
"If I may? I don't mean it be rude...it is only that...it is difficult."   
He ran his fingers through his hair. Cut short, It had gone quite curly but no better behaved.    
  
"I know it is, mon frere," Combeferre gave him a warm smile and placed his hand in the small of his back, "come, if I'm not mistaken, you've been given the guest room on the second floor; I'll show you to it."

  
Combeferre led Enjolras up the stairs and down the hall. Along the way they passed Madame Combeferre who gave Enjolras a warm greeting and, sensing his discomfort, refrained from pulling him into her arms. She gave him a smile and expressed how grateful she was that he had joined them. 

"You," she said, turning to Combeferre, "I was so cross with you now I can't seem to recall why." She hugged her son and patted his cheek. "Sweet boy," she sighed happily and left them and Combeferre shook his head after her and finished showing Enjolras to his room, the very one he had been stuck in weeks ago. Apparently Emilie had had some hand in the room arrangements as an extra bed had been added to his room which he and Courfeyrac were meant to share.    
"This room adjoins mine, if you should need anything," he told him as he opened the door for Enjolras.    
  
Enjolras appreciated that Madame Combeferre didn't talk too long. She seemed charming enough but new people frightened him still. It was hard enough to deal with himself alone.    
"Thank you mon frere."   
He said softly as he looked around the room. It was decorated plainly and contained only the essentials. The minimalism of the room, so similar to his old apartment, charmed Enjolras. He sat on the bed it was incredibly comfortable.    
"I like it."

 

"I'm glad of that," Combeferre leaned in the door for a moment. "Do you have need of anything before I go, dear friend?"

 

Enjolras shook his head but just as Combeferre seemed about to go he quickly spoke up.    
"Perhaps a cup of tea?"   
  


Combeferre smiled and nodded. "Coming right up, mon frere." He departed and made his way to the kitchen by way of the dining room to prepare the cup himself rather than trouble the staff with something he had been doing for years anyway.    
  


Back in the dining room, Emilie and Courfeyrac had used the occasion as an excuse to stuff themselves silly on sweets before dinner. 

 

Emilie had tied her wild curls back and dug into a cake, lovingly baked using flavor from the summer oranges. Monsieur Combeferre excused himself, sneaking one last cookie before he did as Madame Combeferre had gone upstairs to see to some finishing preparations for the rooms.

 

"Finish mine, frere," Emilie slid her half finished cake to him and leaned back in her chair in defeat. "Everything hurts and it was well worth it." she sighed.

 

Courfeyrac eyed the cake with determination to see if he could eat it without being sick.

"Anything for you petite Aphrodite! What dashing hero could resist a goddess in distress!" He accepted the cake happily.

 

"I would surely perish of my own gluttony without you!" Emilie giggled and accosted his milk.   
  
Courfeyrac giggled, completely caught in a sugar rush.    
"I am honored to assist!"   
  
"Good heavens," Combeferre caught sight of the two of them giggling like toddlers at the table as he walked through the dining room with a pot of tea. 

"have you two consumed all of the sugar in the house?"   
  
Courfeyrac exploded with a new bunch of giggles.    
"Not  _ all _  mon ami! Is Enjolras going to join us?"

  
Combeferre shook his head. 

"He needs a bit of time to himself," he explained. He went ahead and prepared a cup of tea to Enjolras's liking and fixed a couple of cups with decidedly less sugar for Courfeyrac and Emilie while he was at it.   
  


"If you'll pardon me," he gave them each a smile with their tea and held up Enjolras's cup before he disappeared once more to deliver the tea. He stopped in his room for a moment to grab an envelope and returned to Enjolras a second later.    
  


Enjolras sat at the desk by the window and looked out over the sunset colored sky and realized he was still holding his seeds. Combeferre presented him the tea and the envelope. 

"For the seeds, until you've a pot for them," he explained and watched the fading sun with him for a moment.   
  
Enjolras didn't notice but he'd flashed Combeferre a small smile when he handed him the envelope.    
"Thank you mon frere!"   
He put the seeds lovingly into the envelope before he accepted the tea. It was on the hot side and far too sweet, just how he liked it. 

 

Combeferre would cherish that smile for the rest of his days, the first smile he'd seen on Enjolras's waking face since before the barricade.   
  


"You're most welcome," he said softly a moment later. He sipped his own tea and gave his shoulder a small squeeze.

"I shall leave you to it, mon frere. Please, if you have need of anything, seek me out." Combeferre knew Enjolras would probably do without before seeking him out but Combeferre always implored it of him anyway.

 

"I will. Goodnight, mon frere." Enjolras gazed at Combeferre and offered him a nod goodnight, then settled into the desk chair to study the seeds.   
The bed had a nightshirt folded on top of it which he appreciated, and a few books here and there with titles that looked bearable. He'd be as content as possible in this little room that he rather liked.   
He leaned his head upon his arms on the desk and toyed with the seeds with a single finger.

 

"Goodnight, mon frere," Combeferre gave him a small smile and let him be.

 

Enjolras changed out of his clothes, which felt nice after the long journey, and into the nightshirt, but kept the cravat loosely tied around his neck. He wasn't quite tired enough to sleep just yet and so he sat at the desk and pulled out a paper and pen and attempted to draw the scene out the window. It came out quite horribly, like a child had drawn it. He snorted and wadded it up.   
"Perhaps I should learn." he said to the Grantaire in his memories, then kissed the envelope gently and crawled into bed.   
  


Emilie couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that Enjolras would not join them, but she understood why. His heart was so heavy and silent that the world must have been overwhelmingly loud to him; the poor man needed all of the peace he could manage. She sipped the tea Henri had given her and smiled when she found he'd remembered how she liked it.   
  


Courfeyrac noticed Emilie's smile fade and gave her hand a little squeeze.    
"Are you alright?"   
  
"Hmm?" Emilie hummed distractedly and, when she realized she'd been asked a direct question, perked up. "Oh, yes," she assured him when she realized what he had asked. She squeezed his hand. "My heart goes out to your friend in his time of grief, but I am fine, brother."   
  
"Good good. I feared for a moment you had eaten even more than me and were set to burst!" he teased and pinched her cheek.   
"Well, it seems it's just as well we ate if the others are not going to join us for dinner."   
  
Combeferre joined Courfeyrac and Emilie in the dining room a moment later. 

"What's this about the others not joining?" He raised a brow but smiled and helped himself to whatever was left.    
  
"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," Emilie giggled and smiled wryly at her brother. She then cradled her stomach and bemoaned having to practice piano before bed but Madame Combeferre had insisted that if the girl refused to marry she may as well use her free time to practice something to perfection.   
  
Courfeyrac's smile softened as he gazed at Combeferre into a soft, genuine smile.    
"You are just in time, mon ami. I would have finished everything to the last crumb."   
  
Combeferre smiled at him in turn, nearly melting under Courfeyrac's gentle gaze. 

"I'm sure madame Eleanor could not be more delighted; lucky for me to have arrived when I did." It was mostly the desserts that had been finished and not the actual food but Combeferre didn't point that out.    
  


Emilie bent to kiss both of them on the cheek and bid them farewell for the moment as she went to her practicing.   
  
"Ah! I will come and listen as soon as my dear friend has finished eating my dear! Best of luck!" He blew her a kiss and waved, but as soon as he turned to Combeferre his expression was grim.   
"Is he alright?'   
  
Combeferre finished chewing and swallowed with a sigh. 

"He's..he's as alright as can be expected. He wants to grow apple trees, so at least he has interest in something. It's an improvement."   
  
The crease showed between Courfeyrac's brows as he frowned.   
"An..apple tree?" It didn't sound like Enjolras at all to him and it made him nervous, but then, he hadn't trusted him since the day they'd found him with a gun to his head.   
  
Combeferre shrugged, just as confused as Courfeyrac. "Your guess is as good as mine, mon ami. As long as he shows interest in something other than wasting away, I am happy - whether I understand it or not."   
  
Courfeyrac took a deep breath and let it out with a heavy sigh.   
"You're right. I think this place will be good for him, I know it was for me."   
He offered Combeferre a small smile and squeezed his hand.   
"I'm going to go listen to little Emilie play."   
  
Combeferre squeezed his hand and brushed his thumb across the knuckles that he could not press a kiss to. "I won't be far behind you, mon ami."   
He gave him a fond smile and watched him go before he went back to his dinner.   
  


Emilie loved piano, loved to let her fingers dance over the keys and be rewarded with song. She loved the peace that playing brought to those around her. What Emilie hated, was sheet music. Not that she couldn't read it, she very much could, but her greatest love was to play nonsense and songs of her own design. With the sheet music tossed aside, the girl looked at peace at the keys, her eyes closed as she lost herself in the song and even the wildest Combeferre looked tamed.   
  
Courfeyrac was surprised that the wild girl had such a gift for the piano. Her face looked so relaxed and her fingers moved so gracefully across the keys. She would make a very beautiful woman one day. Though not the type that Courfeyrac would have pursued, far too virtuous he was sure of it. He realized with a smirk that he hadn't been with a woman in years. Perhaps he could convince Combeferre to share one. His mind wandered from there.   
  
"You're staring, monsieur," Emilie opened one eye and smiled at him before she went back to her playing.    
  
Combeferre helped the maids clear away the dishes until they fussed and waved him away and then he went to join Courfeyrac and Emilie. He had half a mind to go check on Enjolras but didn't want to smother him.

 

Enjolras had fallen deeply asleep.  He dreamed that Grantaire sat beneath the apple trees that Enjolras had grown, an entire orchard and he happily watched him eat the apples and paint them at once.

  
Courfeyrac smiled innocently at her.    
"I'm terribly sorry my dear little sister. I was so caught up in your music. Do you play your piano for your suitors? You must pierce each one through the heart!"   
  
Combeferre had very nearly asked him just what impure thoughts he had been thinking but refrained in front of the polite company of his younger sister. He sat in one of the comfortable arm chairs and watched them fondly, pleased that they got on so well.    
  
"On the rare occasion that one comes to call I play for them incessantly," Emilie admitted with a wry smile, "that way I don't have to talk to them. I can't even begin to tell you how  _ boring  _ the young men are here. They view the world from their manors and their carriages but see nothing beyond the glass. I don't wish to live a life blinded."   
  
Courfeyrac smiled at her, fond and a little sad.    
"You sound like Enjolras. Though I'm afraid he only made his own admirers leave running from the room in tears..."   
  
"I remember that," Combeferre said wistfully. "The poor girl, though, I think she frightened Enjolras just as much as he frightened her." He laughed to himself as he recalled how Enjolras's face had gone through seven different expressions before he snapped on the girl.   
  
Emilie snorted in laughter and missed a key but quickly recovered. "Ah, to send them from the room in tears. That would be a feat!" She winked at them and it was not clear whether or not she was joking. 

"It's just as well; I'm perfectly content to walk the sunflowers forever rather than decorate ones arm."   
  
Courfeyrac snorted.    
"You may never want to decorate a man's arm, though perhaps one day you will find one suitable to decorate your own."   
  
"I like the way you think, monsieur," Emilie winked at him again with a fond smile and went back to her keys.    
  
Combeferre threw his legs over the arm of the chair and leaned against the other and listened to their conversation with utmost fondness, though in his opinion no one could ever deserve Emilie but he trusted her. None had caught her eye yet and the one that did, if ever, would certainly be an impressive thing to behold.   
  
Courfeyrac winked back at her, then caught Combeferre's eye with a look so full of promise that it was almost lewd. Combeferre felt the heat rise in his cheeks, among other places, and bid his sister a quick goodnight before he returned Courfeyrac's gaze and retreated to their shared room. Courfeyrac's ego inflated a few sizes and he crossed his legs to make sure nothing else swollen was in view. He delayed a good ten minutes before bidding Emilie goodnight with a kiss on the cheek and hurrying up after Combeferre.   
  
Emilie watched him go with a roll of her eyes, surprised he'd managed to wait ten minutes, and continued playing. 


End file.
